


Seven Sentences

by mulbr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Mind Manipulation, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Unhealthy Relationships, not a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 65,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulbr/pseuds/mulbr
Summary: When Hermione meets a handsome stranger at her favorite book shop in Diagon Alley, her life comes crashing down in more ways than one. She finds herself puzzled by many things, but one thing in particular when he takes a sudden interest in the girl widely known as the brightest witch of her age and is seemingly dismissive of The Boy Who Lived. SPORADIC UPDATES.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> : Hello all! This is my first shot at a Tomione fic. I plan for this to be multi chaptered, possibly rather lengthy as the outline I've made for this story leaves little room for a small interpretation of it.
> 
> And, heads up, it will be dark. Maybe not as dark as some Hermione/Tom fics, but I will not write a soft Tom. I don't interpret his character that way, and I have a hard time seeing how anyone could due to the nature of his upbringing and his life in general, but to each his own. He will be manipulative, cunning, and abusive to those around him in many ways. I also want to point out ahead of time that I am labeling this as a Tomione because of Tom's appearance, among other things that I will discuss in this story. Please keep in mind that this Tom has lived his life as Tom Riddle and later, Lord Voldemort, and remembers that part of his life. So this could be considered Volmione in that way. If that bothers you, please feel free to relieve yourself of this story. Mentioning your hate for this pairing will not make me take this story down or change anything about it.
> 
> As for Hermione, she will not be a damsel in distress, nor will she be completely immune to the drawls of dark magic. I've always seen Hermione as a smidge bit dark, considering things she did in the books to people who wronged her or people she loved. She, in my opinion, is most drawn to knowledge and at the end of the day, that's what I believe she is driven by, along with a strong moral compass that may be tested and possibly swayed at times in this fic.  
> Please also keep in mind that my perception of these characters is subjective and is influenced by what I've seen in the movies, read in the books, and read in numerous FanFiction's involving these two characters. I will name off some of my favorite authors, with urges to each of you to check out their work. I may unintentionally draw from their characterization of Tom or Hermione, and as such it is good to go to the source. Serpent In Red, Nerys, Ariel Riddle, Chelle/Chelleybean, Shan84, cocoartist, Colubrina, treeson, and numerous others have some absolutely amazing works with these two as the main characters. Please check out their work, and see my favorite fics of these authors and others on my page.
> 
> Constructive criticism will always be welcome in this fic and in any other fic I write. I cannot grow as a writer without criticism, whether from myself or from those who read my writing, or both. Expect a few typos and/or grammatical errors. I do proof read several times over, but I'm not perfect and may not catch everything. Feel free to point them out if you'd like.
> 
> I apologize for the extremely long note, but I wanted to get a few things out of the way so I don't have to touch on them throughout this fic. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it. :)
> 
> I am not JK Rowling and I do NOT own these characters, or anything about the Harry Potter universe in general. I am just a fan that wants to give my take on an amazing work of art in my own way.

**Chapter One: Crude Beginnings**

* * *

 

The night was chilly and windy as she strolled through Diagon Alley. She had been doing a bit of spontaneous shopping, something very uncommon for her. Every move she made was calculated and thought out, every possibility of any action considered carefully before making any decisions, even the smallest ones. So her split second decision to go on a bit of a shopping spree in Diagon Alley was a strange one for her. But, she convinced herself rather quickly that she should treat herself this once in celebration of her promotion to Assistant Director in the Ministry of Magic's Muggle Relations Department.

Once the news made the  _Daily Prophet_ , she imagined her friends would owl her immediately, congratulating her and demanding a proper celebration. She wasn't so keen on that idea, though. She had always hated being in the spotlight, even amongst her small group of friends on rare occasions. So she told herself, as she trudged through ankle-high snow in her worn chocolate brown boots, that this little out of character escapade compensated her more than enough as celebration of her promotion. And she would tell them as much.

At least it would be good for something.

Or not. She internally laughed at herself for being silly enough to believe that a simple outing alone, she decided she would absolutely not call it a shopping trip, in honor of her promotion would keep her overzealous friends from celebrating her accomplishment.

She looked up absent mindedly at the different shop names as she walked. Deciding that she would still be practical with whatever purchases she made tonight, she headed into a small bookstore, Gelival's Peculiar Texts, a shop that she frequented ever since she began working at the ministry.

The shop was small and quaint, but relatively expensive. The owners, a pair of aging and rather flirtatious sisters, prided themselves on finding old and rare texts. Hermione had a strange set of feelings about them and thus, only entered the shop when she had an extremely specific taste for an old or extremely hard to find book. She respected their common love of literature, but she couldn't stand how forward the pair of them were. She shook her head slightly at the memory.

Hermione had discovered the shop during a trip to the well known wizarding district with Harry and Ron during the summer after their seventh year at Hogwarts. She had seen the shop while waiting for Ron and Harry to exit the wizarding sports shop positioned across from the shop she was currently in. Hermione had been immediately drawn to it when she spotted  _The Unknown Travels of the Founders_  in the window, a rather rare text that she'd wanted to read ever since she saw it referenced to in another book in the Hogwarts library during her fifth year. Ron and Harry grudgingly agreed to enter with her, only for the Gelival sisters to immediately begin berating them. Or, more specifically, Harry.

"Oh, sister, look! It's him! It's Harry Potter! Harry Potter has entered our shop!" the annoyingly shrill voice of Jesiva, the eldest of the two, whispered gushingly through an archway behind the counter.

The younger sibling, Maria, stocked out of the backroom, head furiously swiveling back and forth in search of the young man Jesiva was talking about.

Surprise etched itself into her square, slightly wrinkled features and her dark blond eyebrows shot up into her receding hairline. "So it is! What a handsome young lad he is!" She rushed around the counter, taking Harry's face in her hands. Harry had grimaced at the sudden, unwanted contact.

Hermione had rolled her eyes. Weren't these women old enough to know that it's considered rude to touch people without knowing them, and without consent for that matter? They had all grown accustomed to the swooning that begun over Harry after the Final Battle, when he was declared a war hero by the Ministry. But generally, the contact came from girls her age and those a few years younger or a few years older. Not quite this old.

Ron was quietly snickering to himself, going unnoticed by those around him.

"Erm, hello." Hermione tried not to sound too cross, seeing the look of desperation cross Harry's features. Both sisters heads snapped in her direction, apparently irritated by the other female in their shop.

"Yes?" Jesiva said in a clipped tone and cocked her head, which caused her limp, brown hair with greying roots to slosh off to the side.

"I was wondering what kind of books you sell in this shop."

This seemed to cause the older women to grab hold of their composure, as Maria's hands had slipped from Harry's face to her rather wide hips. Jesiva had come round the counter at this point, arms crossed across her thin form as she gave Hermione a tight smile.

"Oh, all kinds dear! We specialize in finding the rarest of the rare, oldest of the old!" She emphasized knowingly.

Maria perked up and wiggled her brows, drawing closer to Hermione and laying a rather well manicured hand on her shoulder, saying in a hushed tone, "Some are less… legal than others."

"Er… right." Hermione had smiled and nodded once slowly, backing away from Maria and focused her attention on the shelves of books, leaving Ron and Harry to entertain the shop owners. She had spent thirty minutes or so looking around during her first trip to the store, much to Harry's dismay and Ronald's humor. He'd scowled at her when they left the shop and ran a hand through his seemingly always disheveled black hair.

"I mean  _really_ , Hermione! Did you have to spend half an hour looking around at all those old books? Surely Hogwarts was better equipped with those kinds of books in the Restricted Section. Those women wouldn't leave me alone!"

Ron had snorted at that and slapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come now, Harry. You must be used to it by now, women fawning over 'The Boy Who Lived' is nothing new is it? I'll answer that for you, no it's not. Maybe the old cougars coming after you so bluntly is, though." He scratched his head, still snickering lightly.

Hermione ignored him and answered Harry. "They might be a bit… off kilter for you Harry, but they've got some amazingly preserved texts in there! All sorts of subjects, and even rare books from other countries! Just look at this one!" she reached into her small beaded bag, pulling out a dark green, obviously worn book and held it out for him to examine. He glanced at it, but did not analyze it further. It did nothing to change his irritated state. Pity, as Hermione had almost all but forgotten how their excursion into the shop started out in the midst of her excitement over her newly acquired book. "It's about how the Chinese discovered their magic and that it helped them create many of their wonders. Well, what Muggles consider wonders, anyway. But it's a first edition, Harry! And it's straight from the source. Hogwarts didn't have a thing like that!" She exclaimed and waved her hands enthusiastically.

Harry scoffed and opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron, gesturing for them to enter. Hermione nodded a thanks and waited for his response. "Well, fine then. It's settled. You can go back to that shop as much as you want, but I'll never enter again. I can't handle that again. I'll need a bit of firewhiskey after that  _lovely_ encounter."

So as it was, Hermione explored Gelival's Peculiar Texts on a regular basis alone, a few times with Luna or Ginny. The sisters were miles different when she was alone or with one of her female friends, telling her all about their extraordinary trips to different countries in search of different texts. Maria had once told her about how they'd managed to snatch a copy of one of the most rare and quite illegal pieces of wizarding literature,  _Black Magics and Rituals_ , a book authored by one of the most feared Russian Dark Lords in history, particular to the fourteenth century.

So today, when she entered, she wasn't sure what side of the sisters she would witness. _I guess it depends on whether or not there's any 'handsome' wizards about their shop,_ she thought, as she braced herself for whatever and entered the shop with a huff. Jesiva was behind the counter, flipping the page of a rather odd looking book, with dark grey pages and black words. She looked up to see who entered, and looked back down at her text. "Hello, Hermione." She said in a bored tone, before flipping the page again.

Hermione turned to face the backside of the store, where a rather large glass cabinet housed the rarest of texts on display with the strongest anti-theft and preservation charms upon them for visitors to look through and read. Those were literary works the sisters were hard pressed to part with, but permitted it on the rare occasion that a wizard or witch willing to pay a pretty hefty sum inquired about them.

Maria appeared to be a bit more perky as she renewed the charms placed on the cabinet and the books. She turned towards Hermione, extending a rather large grin. "Hello there, Hermione!" She said. Her eyes drifted to her sister. "Don't you pay attention to Jesiva. She's been trying to find that book for ages and now that she's finally got her grimy little hands on it, she's refused to part from it for anything today. Bloody wanker my sister is, you know. Leaving me to do absolutely everything in this shop alone today!" She said the last bit loud enough for Jesiva to hear, who looked up for a moment and looked back down, one thin brow arched and muttering something under her breath.

Hermione grinned back at Maria. "Oh really? Any idea what it's about?" Maria shrugged at this, flicking her wand at the bookshelves and once more at a pile of wash rags. The rags went to work shining up the bookshelves and the delicate texts in them.

"I haven't the slightest idea, Hermione. Absolutely none." Jesiva let out a huge sigh, looking up at the two women in the back of the store while rolling her eyes. She was about to say something when the bell above the door chimed, and all three pairs of eyes landed on the tall, handsome stranger who entered.

Hermione felt her mouth open slightly, marveling at his beauty. This stranger had the most angular cheekbones she had ever seen on a man, maybe anyone. He had dark, somewhat wavy hair that fell perfectly across his forehead and to one side, and eyes so dark that Hermione couldn't tell what color they were from this far away. Jesiva's thin eyebrows seemed to disappear into her hairline, gawking at the young man before smiling slyly at her sister, who had nearly the same reaction.

Maria glanced at Hermione before pushing past her to haggle the handsome stranger. Hermione rolled her eyes before turning back to the cabinet, looking absently at one of the books there. She could hear Jesiva and Maria questioning him, a "Well I've  _certainly_  never seen _you_  around, my dear boy!" here, and a "Wherever have you come from, my boy? Do you have a bachelor for a relative? Perhaps you'd enjoy the company of an older woman?" there. She grunted and made her way to the shelf that the Gelival's kept new books on.

The young man entertained some of their questions before getting seemingly irritated for a flash of a second, and effectively shooed them off. Hermione was mildly impressed by that, and stifled a laugh. He shuffled around the store, moving quietly and quickly through the shelves of books. Hermione briefly wondered if he was aware of the two pairs of googly eyes upon him.  _Well, with a face like that_ , she thought before she could stop herself,  _he's probably used to it all around._

Brushing off her thoughts of the man a few yards away from her, she settled back into her original intentions of being here. She picked up one of the new books,  _Charms of the Ages_ , and opened it. She was on the fifth page and about to close the book after noting it was nothing she was interested in, when a voice of something like velvet interrupted her.

"That one's a waste of a read." It said in a hushed whisper. She turned to the source of the voice and came face to face with the handsome stranger.

Hermione felt herself blush a bit as she looked up at him, before her eyes fell over his shoulder and directly onto the sisters. They were grinning widely and motioning with their hands for her to go on. She resisted the urge to furrow her brow at them or roll her eyes, and shut the book.

Hermione had noticed he was tall before, but he was much taller than she was. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. He seemed to be about her age, so she decided to indulge.

She flipped it over, inspecting it, before saying, "Oh really? And I'm just supposed to believe anything some random bloke tells me about a book I've picked up for reasons undisclosed to him?" She questioned, tensing up a bit in anticipation of his response. She hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but she wasn't particularly used to speaking to handsome men her age about books. Mostly Quidditch and the like, but definitely not books. She looked back at him out of the corner of her eye, seeing a brief flicker of amusement cross his sharp features and a small smirk grace his perfectly shaped lips.

He shrugged. "Well, if you're interested in house charms and the like, I suppose you'd absolutely adore that one there." He inclined his head towards the book, and turned back to the tattered, worn text he held in his hands. Hermione recognized it as one of the darker texts that usually sat upon the shelves of the glass cabinet in the back of the store. She wondered if Jesiva and Maria even realized that he'd begun to browse through it, or if they were so caught up in their swooning that it went unnoticed. "You didn't strike me as that kind of witch."

"I don't suppose I should strike you as anything, seeing as you've only just met me. Not to mention, this is only the seventh sentence spoken between us. Not much one could learn about another person in seven sentences, I think." She felt her cheeks get even hotter, absolutely sure that she was getting redder by the minute. He was definitely a good looking fellow, but those kinds of first glance comments weren't going to get him anywhere with her.

He chuckled. She hated how that sound made her shudder slightly, and she hated the thought of it even more. Hated it. Just who was this man?

"I believe you are smart enough to know that that is simply not true. Must be. There's so much one could learn in seven sentences about another, if only the right words are spoken, Ms….?" He was looking at her full on now, turned towards her again.

She sighed and turned to face him as well, glancing over his shoulder again, just in time to see Jesiva and Maria glaring at her as if she was ruining their favorite toy. She looked back at the man, looking straight into those dark green… yes, an almost hazel kind of green, orbs. She almost didn't speak her name as she noticed how cold they seemed, how his small smile wasn't reaching his eyes. She collected herself as quickly as the thought came and answered.

"Hermione." She started. "Hermione Granger."

Surprise overcame his face, whether it was genuine or not, Hermione wasn't sure. "My, my, my. How lucky the bloke I am today.  _The_ Hermione Granger? Harry Potter's best friend, his brains?" The man put the book he was holding down, as if he suddenly realized that this conversation was much more important than whatever was in that book. "Well, I am most honored to make your acquaintance, Ms. Granger." He smiled, showing off a set of brilliant, perfectly white teeth.

Her parents would absolutely love for him to sit in one of their chairs at their office, she thought, letting her mind drift for the briefest of second to her dentist parents, still in Australia, as she hadn't found a way to lift the Obliviate she'd cast on them yet. Or maybe she didn't want to. Maybe it was better for them to no longer be plagued by the idea of having a witch for a daughter, ever in danger. As much as they tried to be supportive, Hermione knew that her parents were always worried about her well-being. Especially after she'd let it slip that the most dangerous Dark Lord in history returned at the end of her fourth year. They'd offered to transfer her to a different wizarding school, or allow her to return to Muggle school, but those conversations quickly ceased when she'd very sternly told them that that was absolutely not an option for her. And even though that Dark Lord was no longer a threat, she had no idea if that would stick or not. Deciding that was a different thought for a different time, she filed it away into her mind for later, and tried her best to return that smile.

"And who, may I ask, am I acquainting myself with?" Her lashes flutter for the briefest of moments unintentionally. She scolded herself internally. It was ridiculous to flirt with a stranger, no matter how handsome. She knew nothing of this man, nothing at all, but she was subconsciously succumbing to her masterfully suppressed young adult urges and it upset her. Nothing about her  _wasn't_  carefully controlled, so why the bloody hell did this bloke she didn't know create these responses, no matter how minuet?

"Tom." His eyes suddenly darkened with a genuine emotion Hermione couldn't place, and his smile faded into a smirk as her smile faded away. "Tom Riddle."

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

** Seven Sentences **

**Disclaimer: I am NOT JK Rowling. I do not own these characters or any part of the Harry Potter universe.**

* * *

 

**Chapter Two: As the Bell Chimed**

Hermione had several emotions coursing through her at once. Hermione felt sick, for one. She had just been flirting with the Dark Lord.  _Flirting_  with the bloody Dark Lord! She felt angry, angry that he had somehow found a way back in a dangerously handsome form, probably his teenage self that both Harry and Ginny said was ridiculously good looking, features of the man before her matching the description both of them gave. She felt sad, sad that this man was confronting her all for the sake of getting to Harry, probably planning on killing her here and now.

But the quickest thing to happen was both of them drew their wands the very next moment after he'd announced his name.

She would later remember how scared she'd felt, scared of the ping of adrenaline pumping through her veins at that very moment. She would later reflect on the moment and swear that it was all because of the fact that Voldemort's wand, a wand that looked so much like that of the Elder Wand that she very clearly remembered Harry snapping into two and throwing off of a bridge after the Final Battle, was a mere two centimeters, maybe three, she couldn't be sure, from her nose. That she was pointing her own wand at the Dark Lord, someone who possessed the power to wipe her existence clean from the face of the Earth in a second flat. But she knew deep in her bones that it was something more than that.

Suddenly, it dawned on Hermione that he must've locked the door the moment he walked in, the moment that bell chimed, and she was positive that it was a spell that a simple Alohomora wouldn't be able to undo. She saw that he'd lifted his wand-free hand towards two very confused looking sisters, Jesiva and Maria, wandlessly silencing and body binding them.

He began to circle her like a hawk over it's prey, and she felt that familiar shudder run over her. "Now, now, now, Ms. Granger," his velvety voice was soft, his eyes teasing, and she almost couldn't believe that this was the same Voldemort she'd known. "We wouldn't want anything… unfortunate to befall your dear meddling-" he paused, nudging his head towards the frozen sisters at the counter. " _friends_ , now would we?"

She wondered how a voice so soft could be so intimidating. She mustered up a glare, sending a disarming spell his way. She regretted it almost immediately when that teasing look turned blank and he deflected her spell lazily.

"Would we?" It wasn't a question, really. It was a command.

He was commanding her to answer him.

Hermione shook her head so slightly that she wasn't sure he'd seen it, until he let that small smile grace his lips again. "Good. It seems we're on the same page, Ms. Granger." He stepped closer and her heart began racing so fast that she was sure it would bounce right out of her chest. "As you have seen, Ms. Granger, I am a very merciful lord. But do not test my patience." His buttery voice lowered into a hiss, and his lips turned to a thin line. "Do not attempt to hex me again, or I will successfully eliminate your bound friends."

 _Think Hermione, think_! She urged herself, trying to figure a way out of this. Nobody capable of putting a stop to this situation would attempt to enter the shop, she was sure. Harry was busy with Ginny and Albus, their toddler son. He'd hated this shop anyway and swore never to enter it again, due to the aggressively flirtatious nature of the Gevilal sisters, and wouldn't think she was in any real danger here for any reason. And Ron was either off fraternizing with his girlfriend or participating in his Quidditch match that she was positive was tonight. If she attempted to disarm or hurt him, he would murder Jesiva and Maria. Maybe she could stall until someone,  _anyone_  tried to open that door, only to realize it was locked and hopefully come to the conclusion that something was wrong.

It was almost as if he read her mind when she noticed the 'Open' sign flip to 'Closed'. Tom, no, Voldemort, smirked.

Deciding that a healthy stall technique was better than being completely at his mercy, she cleared her throat. Harry did say that he loved to talk.

"What do you want?" Her voice came out harsh and hoarse, as if she'd suddenly developed a sore throat.

"I had believed you to be the brightest witch of your age, Ms. Granger. What do you  _think_  I want?" he barely flicked his wand, and she watched as her wand fell violently to the ground.

"I don't know," She started, gulping. "I thought that you might have wanted to kill me to get to Harry, but if that were the case, you would've walked in and bound Jesiva and Maria immediately and Avada'd me immediately or, more likely, cornered me elsewhere away from prying eyes and ears." Hermione answered honestly, deciding she had nothing to lose by doing so. She had absolutely no idea what he wanted from her.

Surely she had nothing he needed. He had brains enough on his own, from what she'd witnessed of his plots fleshed out and from what Dumbledore and Harry had told her about his school days. He certainly didn't need numbers enough that he'd start trying to convince Harry Potter's best friend to join him. Although many Death Eaters were either killed during the Battle of Hogwarts or sent off to Azkaban, Hermione knew some had gotten away, notably the Malfoys and Bellatrix Lestrange. They disappeared after the war and the Ministry privately ended their search after a year and a half of seeking the aforementioned. Now that she knew he was back, she was sure the lot of them were off resurrecting him and gathering up the remainder of his estranged followers, if not also acquiring new ones.

"Oh, now  _there's_  the bright mind everyone's been bragging about. Dear Hermione, is it alright if I address you as such?" He paused for effect rather than in anticipation of an answer he knew he wouldn't get and smirked again. "Good, I much prefer being on a first name basis with those I find important to my cause. Of course I don't want you dead, you've no use to me in a grave. No, I've no interest in the Potter boy. And if you comply, I will not purposely seek him out. However, I do not believe this is the optimal setting for this most vital conversation. Perhaps we should take our leave."

Hermione felt her lips curl up into an involuntary sneer. "I won't be going anywhere with you!" She spat before she could help herself, her mind carefully running over what he'd just said.  _Important to his cause?_ The dark impression that left on her mind was enough to make her moan with a sort of emotional pain. Surely he wasn't dense enough to think that she would knowingly do  _anything_ to help the likes of him.  _That soul splitting must've done more damage to his brain that we previously believed._ She internally scoffed at his arrogance, her body instinctively slipping into a defensive position

"Hmm. Unfortunately, you've no choice, dear." Another lazy flick of his wand and she was in his body bind. He levitated her wand from the ground to his hand, pocketing it in his thick black robes. He moved to the counter, smiling softly at the women positioned there. He levitated them into the backroom, where he stayed for a moment before he came back out to face her.

"Don't worry about your friends. I've lifted the charms placed on them and Obliviated their memories of the past hour. They will not remember our being here. I've placed them under a Confundus charm, so we really should be going." He placed a hand on her still bound body and Apparated them away.

* * *

 

They appeared in front of a ridiculously large manor, Hermione wasn't sure where though. The mansion seemed to be on a vast piece of property, but she couldn't tell just how much as they were almost at the porch. The home was three stories tall, built of black brick. It was rather long, and there was a porch that wrapped around both sides of the mansion. Hermione only noticed one lone chair on the porch, a rocking chair painted silver with dark green cushions adorning it. She made to move, run, anything to get away, forgetting she was under a rather strong body bind curse.

Riddle grabbed the upper half of her left arm, and as he did so, she noticed that she could move again. She tried to jerk away from him, but he just tightened his grip and began walking forward quickly, and the large, jade green double doors opened widely to allow them to enter the manor.

Hermione looked around as he near dragged her through the mansion, trying to take in her surrounds. Maybe she could plot an escape if she had an idea of the layout of this sizable home. The walls in what she assumed was the foyer were the same shade of green as the double doors of the manor and the cushions on that lone chair on the porch. The foyer extended into a hall, with a grand staircase to their right and an endless span of space between them and the ceiling above them. It was charmed like the one at Hogwarts, and now it showed a vast starry night above them.  _I would never think the Dark Lord enjoyed star gazing,_ Hermione thought to herself, snorting at the idea of snake faced Voldemort laid out on a blanket in a field of endless grass, staring up at the clear night sky. There were seemingly endless tables and dressers and cabinets with the most interesting artifacts and books atop them, and she noticed a few white doors as they made their way to a rather sizable set of glass double doors. They opened for them to enter the room just as the front doors opened for them moments ago, and he quickly set her in a cushioned silver arm chair, casting some sort of charm on her wrists and ankles quickly to be sure she did not leave the spot.

He peeled off his thick outer robe, revealing a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of black slacks. He sat in an arm chair across from her, identical to the one she was seated in, or rather, bound to.

"I would've never imagined Voldemort would be so fond of binding charms…" Hermione muttered, attempted to roll her wrists and ankles, testing the strength of his spell to no avail.

He chuckled running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "No need for that name, dear. It'll be Riddle for you, 'My Lord' soon enough." At this, Hermione's brow furrowed of it's own accord. She was certainly confused now if she hadn't been before. He obviously remembered his life as Voldemort, yet he didn't want to be called by the name he had fashioned for himself? The new name he had spent years making witches and wizards fear even bloody speaking?

"And why is that?" She found herself asking before she could help it.

"Well, Hermione, I've had a bit of a revelation, you see." He started, running a hand through his hair. He crossed his right ankle over his left leg, casually slinging an arm across his limbs, with his wand dangling from his hand.  _Can't be too much of a revelation,_  she thought snidely,  _you're still threatening to kill people if you don't get your way, bloody git._

"After that Potter boy managed to defeat me… again," he spat the word Potter out as if he'd just swallowed poison. It gave Hermione a fit of glee to see just how badly Harry got under the Dark Lord's skin. "I was reduced to something of a spirit, if you will. I was unable to communicate with the living, and unable to move on to death. I was uncertain of how it was possible, seeing as the lot of you destroyed my precariously constructed Horcruxes," he sent a leer her way before continuing, twirling his wand between his oddly human, long, slender fingers.

"But grateful, none the less, to slip out of death's grip once again. Months past, and I was unsure of how to move to a different plain of existence, until I realized something." He paused, smirking at Hermione, who was busy performing as many wandless spells as she could muster to try to get out of the binds she was held in. He flicked the tip of his wand and she lost the ability to move her hands.

She groaned and threw her now frizzy head back against the armchair, surprised by how comfortable the furniture was. You'd think a cold, harsh Dark Lord would like his furniture similar to his being.

Apparently not.

Although the scholarly portion of her mind was relatively interested in how a man could cheat death yet again with no Horcruxes this time around to save his pitiful existence from being thrown into the depths of whatever hellish pit existed for vile beings such as himself, the less scholarly portion of her mind was absolutely intent on getting out of here, now.

Unfortunately, the student in Hermione always won that little war.

Always.

So when Voldemort, or Riddle, his new preferred name, sent her an emotionless blank look that screamed for her to still her want to get as far away from this man and his manor as quickly as possible lest she be hexed, she obliged, and listened as he proceeded.

"In my younger years, I'd once come across a rare text I had been searching for for weeks beforehand. I'd seen it referenced to just a month before I came upon it, in a dark piece of magical literature in the restricted section at Hogwarts. I'd scoffed at what this text mentioned, the fool I was, and dismissed it, primarily because it involved a notion I feel is most…" He seemed thoughtful for a moment as he racked his brain for the correct phrasing. "Useless." He hissed the word out behind clenched, perfectly straight teeth, as if this notion had purposefully scorned him, wronged him in some way. And it dawned on Hermione.

"Ah," She croaked, her voice still relatively hoarse. "Love." She almost wanted to laugh, but decided against it as he was already cross with the thought. She was in no way equipped to deal with a cross Dark Lord at the moment, her wand in his cloak and her hands bound.

"Yes," he said softly. "Love. You see, Hermione, this text claimed that, magically gifted individuals such as myself-" Hermione snorted at his arrogant deceleration before she could stop herself, her top lip curling into a sneer. The corner of his lips tugged up at her reaction and he continued. "-require a form of… guidance, if you will, to keep us from leaning too far into the Dark Arts and drawling from negative emotions such as hate, envy and the like, to often." He stopped as if she should suddenly know what sort of guidance he was speaking of.

She racked her brain for a moment for an incline of the book he spoke of, and came up empty. "Go on," Hermione said slowly, becoming slightly nervous at the notion that she had absolutely no idea what text he was speaking of. That meant it had to be extremely dark, illegal, or both.

"Forgive me, I assumed an intelligent, well read witch such as yourself may have come across this text as well, seeing as it graces the shelves of that shop you're so fond of… What's it called? Peculiar something or another? Yes. I was holding it as we spoke earlier." He laughed for a few seconds, turning his velvet voice into a fury of silk.

Hermione knew she would have shuddered if she could've. And she hated it.

"Well, Hermione, this guidance I speak of comes in the form of a soulmate. And I have reason to believe that my fated mate, is you." He continued to speak, but Hermione could no longer hear him. Her mind pulled the pieces together quicker than she thought possible, even for a quick witted mind such as hers. She felt hot tears form in her eyes that just simply wouldn't go away no matter how much as she willed them to. It all made sense now. He didn't kill her because she was his soulmate. He didn't care about Harry any longer because she was his soulmate. He had offered to keep himself from purposely seeking Harry out because she was his soulmate. Fate was a cruel, cruel mistress indeed. She was the soulmate of the Darkest and most brutal wizard in recent history. Although she was unsure what exactly that entailed, it didn't matter. All that mattered was she needed to find a way out of this place that was suddenly feeling more and more like a prison, now.

Hermione looked up through her tears and realized he was sitting closer now, a somewhat unsure look on his face. She was sure he wasn't used to witches crying in front of him for reasons other than pain. He didn't know what to do, she realized. He was saying something, but all she could hear was her feeble sobs. She tried to calm herself, but nothing seemed to work.

And then it happened.

She felt something warm within her chest, growing warmer and warmer and warmer until it was burning hot, and she was unsure of how the sensation didn't burn right through her skin. And suddenly the room was shaking, violently, trinkets and artifacts and furniture right along with it. She felt herself grow angrier, distraught, heartbroken by the moment.

How could this happen? How could she be the soulmate of the most vile person she knew? The most vile person in history. The man who single handedly ruined the lives of her comrades, her mentors, her friends, hell, even her enemies who fought for him. That single handedly ruined her life. Brought terror and destruction everywhere he went. Her eyes felt heavy with tears as this sensation suddenly burst, causing the aforementioned objects in the room to burst along with it.

She closed her eyes tight, trying to steady herself, feeling these emotions clasp into nothing suddenly, and suddenly, suddenly she felt nothing.

She opened her eyes.

Riddle wasn't sitting in the armchair anymore. He was standing in the middle of the room, looking absolutely awestruck. Absolutely, magnificently happy. Thrilled, to be exact. He was smiling a rather brilliant smile, arms outstretched at the scene around him, and he seemed to be… what was that noise? Was that… was that  _laughter_?

Hermione watched as the man before her laughed, laughed at the destruction around him that she had somehow caused. As she watched him, she tried to work out what had just happened. Come to think of it, what the bloody hell  _was_  happening? Why was Riddle, a man as emotionless as a tree trunk, laughing?

"What's so funny?" Hermione heard herself say, her voice no longer hoarse, but back to its original sound. If she wasn't sure before, his manic laughter assured her that he was absolutely insane. Psychotic to the nth degree.

He looked at her then, still laughing, and she saw the glee in his eyes. That couldn't be good. Just what exactly had she  _done_? She must've done something for him, given him some kind of grand gratification, revelation, something.

His laughter, a purely cliche evil sound, she was sure she would've found it rather melodic had she not known him, known the things he'd done and probably would continue to do as time went on if he weren't stopped, began to calm. After several seconds, he spoke in an uncharacteristically jovial tone.

"My dear Hermione," he started, still smiling that brilliant smile. "You've just demonstrated to us all the bright advantages of this piece of magic Fate itself deigned upon us, you and I." He gestured to himself, and then to her.

Us all? Hermione felt her face scrunch up. What did he mean, 'all'? There was only the two of them… but no, there wasn't. She looked to the set of now-shattered glass doors positioned a few yards to her left, where a mass of ten to fifteen people, Death Eaters, she realized, stood. Some looked absolutely horrified, some stunned, some as maniacally jovial as their Lord.

She felt her face grow hot, her cheeks surely red, as she surveyed the room to see just what she'd done. There was what seemed to be thousands of shards of glass on the floor in front of the frame of double doors leading into the room, two dressers turned over, the wood of them demolished. Trinkets and artifacts were scattered across the room, some broken, others just in rather awkward positions on their tops or on their sides. The once canopied bed, blackened wood and forest green comforter, silver lined pillows and throws that she hadn't really taken note of before, collapsed on itself. Defined rips made themselves known in the silk fabric of the comforter and throw blankets, the stuffing of the pillows slung casually everywhere in the room. The wood of the door to her far right, a door that she now knew enclosed a previously immaculately decorated bathroom, was splintered into the ground and high ceilings below and above it, barely hanging off two of the hinges, completely torn off of the other. Hermione's mouth progressively dropped lower and lower as she analyzed the damage she'd caused in horror, before feeling a snarl of anger rip through her again.

Her lips curled into a snarl as she said, "What have you done to me?" The question hung thick in the air, Riddle's glorious smile drawing back down into a thin line, his jovial tone quickly deteriorating into a commanding, irritated one.

"I've done nothing to you, you  _insolent_  little girl. I let that little tantrum slip  _only_  because you've allowed myself and my followers the chance to marvel at the raw power of the magic that binds us together, and for that reason alone. I will not tolerate an outburst like that again. Calm yourself!"

This only made her more upset, but when that now familiar warm feeling began to build up again, she immediately willed it back down by doing as he said.

A familiar, annoying high and manic voice brought her out of the glare she had entranced herself in upon the Dark Lord. "My Lord!" It said, and Hermione's head snapped to the left to find none other than the crazed Bellatrix Lestrange standing a couple of feet in front of the other Death Eaters.

Riddle sighed, turning his head towards her. He obviously found something about her as annoying as Hermione found her. Perhaps it was her entire being. She seemed to have that universal effect on people.

"Yes, Bellatrix?" he said softly, crossing his arms, dragon leather clad foot tapping against the dark hardwood floor impatiently.

"The Mudblood did this?" She questioned, eyes traced on Hermione, a small frown playing at her lips, flickers of disgust laced with awe shown in her dark, deep set brown eyes. Hermione flinched slightly at the insult. She hadn't heard that word in over two years, since the war ended.

At this, Riddle frowned. "Yes, Bellatrix, I believe that is quite obvious. You are all dismissed." The Death Eaters began to trail out, some of them damn near sprinting, away from the room. "And Bella?" Riddle's velvet voice was rout with something of possessiveness as he addressed her. Hermione thought it was meant for Bellatrix, until he said, "You would do well to refer to her as Hermione, for now. Pass the message along to my other followers. The next one of you to utter the word 'mudblood' in reference to Hermione will find yourself in a less than convenient situation under my wand." The object of which he spoke was being twirled between his fingers again, a thick eyebrow arched towards the woman he now spoke to.

Bellatrix looked down at her feet, clad in heavy black leather boots, muttering something of a "understood, my Lord" before moving quickly away from the room.

This caused Riddle to turn back to her. He began waving his wand around the room, fixing up one thing at a time as he spoke. "Now," he started, spending a few seconds mending the glass doors before muttering a spell that caused the glass to go black. Hermione swallowed hard when she realized that he was probably planning on doing something horrific to punish her for admonishing him in front of his carefully disciplined followers.

"We've a conversation to finish, and I'd like to do so in private." He finished fixing the objects of the room before he spoke again. She let herself relax after he'd made clear of his intentions, falling back into her defiant mannerisms.

"What is the last thing you remember hearing?" He asked, a finger on his chin, the other hand crossed under his elbow across his stomach, wand still clutched within it.

"That we have a conversation to finish." She muttered sarcastically, to which he narrowed his eyes.

"I've no use for your sarcastic remarks, Ms. Granger. Do not test my mercy." He hissed harshly. "I will not warn you again."

Hermione resisted the urge to cower, determined to keep up her courage and defiance even in the presence of a man who had never hesitated to kill those who irritated him so. As such, she lifted her chin, speaking in a confident, somewhat condescending tone meant to mock the one he directed at her earlier in the shop.

"The last thing I heard was that you believed I am your… soulmate." She whispered the last word, barely audible even to herself. Try as she might to contain her emotions and show him nothing but carefully structured confidence in her abilities to get out of this situation unscathed, both physically and mentally, the idea of being his soulmate unraveled her like nothing else in more ways than one.

"Ah, yes. Right before you began to burst out into a tantrum. You see, the text I spoke of went into immense detail on the properties of which the author believed Fate designs soulmates around. Mates are paired together based on the predetermined alignments of their souls. Light and Dark, you know." Of course he was predestined to be one of the darkest souls the world had probably ever known.

"Not everyone has a mate. Only those whose souls show the extremities of the characteristics of either side, along with the magical power to exert those extremities amongst those around them. One of the two qualifications to have a mate will not result in Fate designating that soul a mate. But you see, it is only required for one of the two soulmates to be in this predicament. In that case, the mates may be siblings, or lifelong comrades, not always an involved sort of mate. As long as the two souls know each other and are around each other for long periods of time, the submissive soul keeps the dominating soul in check. However," the sudden bluntness of his voice took her by surprise. He sat in the recovered armchair he'd previously been occupying and continued.

"When Fate comes across two souls, both possessing both necessary qualifications, Fate immediately binds them together. These mates will draw off of each other's power when near to one another, and, after initial meeting of the preferred state of the mates, they will experience a magic made up of their own and their mates, and when apart, will experience certain unsavory… side effects directly attributed to their separation. What you've just experienced is our combined magic on a relatively small scale. There have only been six accounts in documented magical history of what is called  _Inaversibilis_ Soulmates, and the most destructive account of combined magic ended in the destruction of an entire city, along with the deaths of the overexerted mates. None of them related to each other, none of them simply comrades. Each of the six documented pairs have been romantically involved, husband and wife, husband and husband, wife and wife, or simply partnered without the binding of marriage. Each romantically involved. Until… this." He gestured to himself and to Hermione, and moved on.

"I believe you should know of the last  _Inaversibilis_  pair of mates. Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald." he paused for a moment, allowing her to process this information.  _Of course_ , she thought, mouth agape at that bit of information.

"The reason Dumbledore did not experience the side effects spoken of is he did not leave his mate with ill intent, rather because he felt he had to, for the greater good. Old fool," he muttered, realizing her was getting off of his intended subject and kept going.

"It is lore that this,  _Inaversibilis_ Mates, that is, is the single most important piece of Fate's manic need to keep a balance between Light and Dark magic. One cannot and should not exist without the other, once met. And I believe, Ms. Granger, that that is precisely why I've been brought back. Why Fate chose to bring me back in this form, I cannot be sure, but I theorize that it is to allow you to be able to develop…  _whatever_  it is you need to agree to be my wife, and to allow me to live peacefully if I do choose, as not many people realized that Tom Riddle and Voldemort are one in the same. And that is also precisely why I've resided in the name Tom Riddle, regardless of the origin of the name, in order to regain control in a less blunt way without drawing massive attentions to myself and landing in Azkaban." He finished, looking to her for a response.

Hermione mulled over this information, trying to decide if she believed him or not. She wasn't sure what reason he had to lie about this. The bit about Dumbledore and Grindewald did make quite a bit of sense, seeing as how Light affiliated Dumbledore was, even to the point of hurting those around him for the greater good, and how Dark affiliated Grindewald was, hurting any and everyone around him to further his own devious causes. He knew of her heritage, and it obviously wasn't optimal in his oh so humble opinion. He knew of her hand in destroying his Horcruxes, which he definitely wasn't pleased about. She was best friends with someone who'd bested him twice now, and for that she was sure he would've killed her if this information was not true. She wondered now if he could kill her, if they truly were such a strong form of Soulmates. He hadn't threatened it yet, and she knew he wasn't above threatening someone to get what he wanted if he could. Deciding it was most probable that he was being honest, or at least mostly honest, she cleared her throat, ready to ask one single question regardless of the millions that were flooding her mind.

"And do you have a copy of this… book you speak of in your possession? If so, surely you wouldn't mind me reading all of this for myself to be sure you're telling the truth?" She also wanted to see if there were any loopholes in this whole predicament. If there'd only been six documented cases of it and each of the pairs were romantically involved, they wouldn't be inclined to try to find any. Except possibly Dumbledore. She made a mental note to speak to his portrait at some point in the very near future.

"I believe I already said that a copy, the only copy I know of, resides in that little book shop you love so much." He responded, an irritated look passing over his striking features. He spoke again. "You will be free to leave once you listen to my proposal, and take an Unbreakable Vow swearing not to mention this meeting or anything preceding it to anyone. I will answer any other questions you may have to the best of my knowledge, I'm sure you must have many."

"I do," she admitted. "However, seeing as I've got to work in the morning, I'm unable to stay and indulge myself." She reminded him in a somewhat bossy tone, which he conveniently ignored.

Tom noticed her tone, but decided it best to try to show a more... human aspect of himself to the girl. She had always been able to express pity to those around her in the strangest, condescending way, and normally he would unsheath his wand and mutter the Crutiatus curse on anyone who dared to  _pity_  the Dark Lord, but at this moment, he needed her to feel any form of emotion aside from hate for him. He did not believe she would outwardly show it, but as long as she felt it, his cause would be furthered. So he decided to break off of his Dark Lord persona for just a moment, just to show her, or rather, fool her into believing he still had some sort of human recollection of 'normal' triumphs for people, some sort of emotion that wasn't derived from something that directly affected him.

As such, he allowed his face to become lit with a kind of recognition of her achievement, his eyes flicking to her for a fraction of a second, before he looked towards the blackened glass doors. "I heard of your promotion. I believe a congratulations is in order."

Hermione tilted her head, unsure of how to respond to that. Her gut reaction was to say her thanks, however, she couldn't bring herself to thank this man who'd brought so much pain, so so so much pain, into her life, the lives of her friends and family, and so many others, for anything. Especially after he delivered this less than convenient news to her. So instead, she nodded once, not looking him in the eye, but instead tracing her eyes on the Dark Mark that was tattooed to his arm.

He could see right through it.  _Perfect._ He thought, resisting the urge to smirk.

She spoke again, still gazing at his Mark, noticing how the perfectly still snakes that decorated the tattoo's beady eyes seemed to look straight into her soul before looking away. "I suppose a simple promise that I won't speak a word of this to anyone, considering how dangerously embarrassing that'd be for me given the circumstances, would be inadequate?"

"Come now, Hermione. You're witty enough of a witch to know the answer to that one."

"Of course," she figured trying was better than not. "And what exactly is it that you propose we do?" she asked, becoming vaguely aware of how badly her head hurt, probably from the sudden and unintentional rush of power she experienced a mere fifteen minutes earlier. She still couldn't believe this was happening. That he was back. That he was back looking like  _that_. That he didn't kill her. That she was in this unknown manor, but knew it was not Malfoy manor. That she had been effectively bond to this chair, without a wand. That she was sitting in what seemed to be the Dark Lord's bedroom, in a comfy armchair. That she was  _soulmates_ with the Dark Lord. Deciding she could push this all aside, somehow, in her dangerously accurate compartmentalized mind, she did so and listened to what Riddle said as he began to speak.

"I propose that you make this as easy as possible on the pair of us. I know it's a specifically Gryffindor thing to do, be brave and courageous and outright  _stupid_ , but I suggest you ignore such urges and do as I say. You are, of course, free to do otherwise, however I believe that you'll find the consequences befalling the separated pair, specifically the mate who decides to knowingly separate themselves from the other mate out of any form of ill intent, are severe enough over time to have you accepting these terms either now or later on. At most, a week."

"Oh,  _enough_  with the antics already, Riddle! Get to your damned point." Hermione rolled her eyes, moving to cross her legs in front of her and arms across her chest, forgetting for a moment that she was still bound. "And if you don't mind, could you loosen these binds now? I've no need to harm you at the moment, and I can't bloody well take the Vow without use of my hands."

Riddle opened his mouth, presumably to say no, but seemed to think the better of it, and with a wave of his hand, she was free again. So she made her move to cross her legs, rubbed her red wrists. Invisible restrains took a toll on her thin wrists, causing them to be red all around.

"Do keep to your word and don't try anything. I saw you attempting to perform your wandless hexes while bound. Suppress your disdain for me for a few more moments, Ms. Granger. I propose you and I… coexist, to make this easier on ourselves. As the tradition of this form of mate would have it, I would prefer to marry, as it loosens the restrictions of time apart from one another, if only because it is assumed that if a pair marry, they are well enough off to only separate for necessity, work, food, that sort of thing. As such, we may have to be seen in public together, as well as in the presence of your…  _friends,_ as much as I hate the thought. We will need to act natural, it won't do to have you married and seemingly hating your husband in front of your friends. Due to the perceived need to be in the presence of your comrades every now and again, I would like for you to use your newfound increase in magical ability to remove all memories of this persona," he swooped his hands over himself, from chest to waist, as if he couldn't believe it himself. "Of Tom Riddle, from Potter and the Weasley girl's minds. Now as my wife, I will require only what is necessary from you. I believe we could be of other uses to each other if you were willing, both politically and… more  _intimately,_ but I take no pleasure in forcing my presence on a woman, contrary to what you may believe, and will only indulge in such tendencies if you present yourself as willing. This form comes with certain urges I did not have in my other, less human form, and as such, I can consider myself a willing participant, even considering your unfortunate blood status. It would be rather imperative for the pair of us to sleep in the same room, no matter how much that idea may discuss you Ms Granger, I assure this room is large enough to accommodate two separate beds, two separate bathroom could be arranged as well if you saw it fit. I would prefer for you to stay within my sight, thus a job, in the field of  _Muggle Relations_  especially, would be less than acceptable," he was going to continue, but Hermione stopped him.

"Riddle, if I even for a  _moment_ consider these terms, my job will stay my job, whether you like it or not. And how do you suppose I wipe Harry and Ginny's memories of you? Do I just waltz up and say 'Hello Harry, Ginny! I've a need to go through your memories and wipe a few things out. Let me in, will you'? For a bloody Dark Wizard, you sure are a dunce!" She finished, throwing her hands in the air emphatically.

His green eyes darkened, beautiful features curling into a sneer. "I told you not to test my  _patience,_ you  _insolent, idiot_ girl!" His wand was in her face again, and she found herself unafraid for some reason, more curious than anything else. Curious of how he'd gotten his hands on an obviously mended Elder Wand, as there was only one and Harry most definitely snapped it into two, and curious of how their bond might react to him attempting to harm her. Pushing aside her need to know for a moment, because for Godric's sake, she wanted to know, she rolled her eyes and groaned.

"Oh  _please_ tell me you're not about to throw a bloody tantrum over a harmless insult. If I'm to be your wife, I won't tolerate such mindless nonsense!" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she saw a smirk play on his lips. His wandhand suddenly became less tense, but he didn't not lower his wand.

"So you'll consider my proposal, then?" He said, his lips a full fledged smirk now. It was strange how quickly his frame of mind could change from seemingly murderous to humorous so quickly. How cruel Fate was. Cruel indeed.

"I absolutely will not!" She huffed, her brow furrowed as she stood. She took a breath and calmed herself, uncrossing her arms. "I will have a look at that bloody book and I'll go from there."

" _We'll_ go from there."

"Whatever! Can we get on with the stupid Vow, then? Call along one of your little pups and let's get this done. I've got to work in the morning, you know. Some of us actually have a job that  _doesn't_ involve terrorizing girls young enough to be our granddaughter into marrying us over some stupid declaration that we're soul mates!" She found herself getting incredibly cross, which was perfectly within her realm of responses to situations such as this, situations that she couldn't figure out in a short amount of time, but not too terribly smart while in the presence of a Dark Lord.

"You are a bloody Gryffindor if I've ever met one." He muttered, apparently thinking something along the lines of what she was thinking, before lowering his wand. He pocketed it, and lowered his eyes to his Mark. He pressed his fingers upon it, hissing in a tongue she didn't quite understand.

Except she did.

" _Your presence is needed, Lucius."_ She heard him whisper, eyes widening as she realized she was hearing parseltongue. Parseltongue? She wasn't the damn blood of Slytherin himself, nor was she a Horcrux. How could she be hearing parseltongue and understand it? She immediately knew it was due to whatever bond this was between them. Before looking up at him. He was steadying himself again, not realizing that she'd understood him.  _Good,_ she thought snidely, realizing she finally had the upper-hand in  _something_.  _Maybe I can use that to my advantage_.

"I didn't realize you called your cronies by parseltongue."

"I don't always. I only do so when I need one of them immediately. The Mark responds best to parseltongue, it'll burn like hell, a similar pain of that of the Cruciatus, until they present themselves to me." He said a bit smugly, just as Lucius Malfoy, the patriarch of the Malfoy family, appeared. His eyes lingered on Hermione for a moment before he bowed in response to being in his Lord's presence. His stark blonde hair was even longer than she remembered, and he was adorned in the most immaculate green robes she'd ever seen.  _Damned Slytherins and their obsession with green._ She thought to herself.

"You requested my presence, my Lord?" Lucius inquired, turning his attention to the Dark Lord who looked several years his junior. Lucius was beginning to wrinkle.  _Pity._ Hermione thought bitterly, as she noticed how aged the man looked now. She wondered if the worry of being caught by the Ministry was what caused the many wrinkles that now ingrained themselves in his once pristine features.  _Or maybe it was just worry of his Lord resurrecting himself once again._

"Yes, Lucius. You will bear witness to and officiate an Unbreakable Vow between Miss Granger and I." Riddle commanded in a voice as soft as the silk his platinum blonde follower wore.

Lucius nodded once a barely audible "of course, my Lord" escaping his lips before he unsheathed his wand.

Hermione held her right arm out, as did Riddle. As they locked hands, Lucius began a muffled incantation required of the officiating party and pointed his wand directly in the center of their joined hands.

"Will you, Hermione Jean Granger, keep all events of today, and their resulting events, involving myself, Tom Marvolo Riddle, and yourself, from anyone else, never speaking of them, nor writing them down for anyone to find, nor leaving any literature around for anyone to find, nor succumbing to a search of your mind, any of these intentionally or unintentionally, including my return and the details of it, along with your believed location and… state of our souls, lest you die if you break this vow?" His voice was painfully calm, and she was reminded of the way it sounded only a couple of hours earlier when this all started. When he entered that damn shop. Like bloody velvet. She watched as three thin ropes of blue flame engulfed their hands and forearms, spiking slightly as she spoke. "I will." She said flatly, looking directly into his eyes. His eyes were cold and devoid of all emotion, except one very clear emotion that confirmed Hermione's suspicion that she was making a very big mistake: triumph. He felt triumphant in this Vow. Lucius began to complete the incantation, and the flames around their hands and forearms seemed to dissolve within their skin. Her skin tingled where he was touching it, she realized, in a very oddly satisfying way. As if he was meant to touch her. She unclasped her hand from his, shuddering in disgust at the feeling.

"Thank you, Lucius. You may go." Riddle nearly whispered, nodding once to the blonde man. Lucius bowed and made his way out of the room. His eyes landed on hers once again. "You are free to go as well, Miss Granger, if you wish."

"I certainly  _do_ wish to,  _My Lord._ " She said the last two words as mockingly as she possibly could, causing him to chuckle. She turned to leave, hand on the door before she turned back around. Riddle raised a black brow. "Changed your mind already, little lion?" He taunted, moving his wand to probably transfigure one of the two armchairs into a bed.

"My wand, Riddle." Hermione near barked, glaring at him for believing her so simple minded as to just believe anything he muttered out of that pretty little mouth of his.

"Of course." In one swift motion, he levitated her wand towards her, which she took quickly. She didn't bother to say goodbye as she headed out of the double glass doors, still blackened, muttering something about incessant Dark Lords along her way.

As soon as she opened the dark green wooden doors to make her exit, she was Apparated back in front of Gelival's Peculiar Texts in the middle of Diagon Alley.  _Sneaky bastard._ She thought grudgingly, wondering how he pulled that off without splinching his victims. Seeing the 'Closed' sign turned back round to say 'Open', and noticing it was only ten o'clock at night rather than the early hours of the morning as she'd thought before she arrived in the Alley, she opened the door to the store, ready to pay a hefty price for that damned book. A single tear fell down her cheek as she thought of just exactly what visiting this bloody shop did for her day. It had started of so wonderful, being promoted unexpectedly. And ended so terribly, being demoted to the role of Soulmate of Voldemort, ne Tom Marvolo Riddle. She listened as the familiar chime from that damned bell above the door rung in her ears, a sound that would forever haunt her as the first sign that her life would forever change on that cold, snow cloaked night.

Tom Riddle felt a bit of celebratory firewhiskey was in order. He had that little witch right where he wanted her. Of course, he didn't believe her dumb enough to simply believe every word he'd said. Fate wouldn't be that silly as to mate him to a witch that intensely stupid and ill-witted. The Soulmate bit was true, sure. But his intentions weren't as pure as he'd paved them to be, they never were.

He moved to his nightside table, transfiguring the snake figured night lamp into a glass tumbler, and then moving to his dresser to retrieve the firewhiskey. He poured himself a fourth of a glass and raised his glass to himself, a little toast to a seemingly tiny, yet so unspeakably big, triumph.

He sat himself in the armchair he had graced earlier while the Granger witch was in his presence, sighing. The smell of cinnamon and clear cut, brilliant  _fire_ from the whiskey burnt his nose something sweet. How good it felt to be in this body again, having all of his senses attuned like he remembered.

Of course, finding out that he'd been smashed by Fate with a Soulmate, a muggleborn no less than fifty years his junior, was originally puzzling and angering. Still puzzling, but, the intents of Fate were of no concern to him. He was no longer angry, but plotting to use this to his advantage. He had been doing so for four of the six months he'd been back, ever since he'd found out exactly  _who_ his soulmate was from a very strange encounter with a Divination's Master in Guam.

He'd been watching her ever since, but of course, she didn't need to know that. She didn't need to know how he was planning to use this new found combined power of his, or rather, theirs, either. No matter. He didn't mind sharing a bit of power with a witch, especially if he received the same. It wasn't as if he had a choice, and the benefits outweighed the risks by a weighty amount. His smirk formed into a genuine smile as he thought of his plans, his grand, grand plans.

He finally took a sip of his firewhiskey, enjoying the burn it left in his throat. He realized firewhiskey was much like revenge. Revenge may be painful to achieve, but the results were sweet in the end.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Voldemort, was not one to take to being bested. And he would exact revenge. He had the patience for it, of course. It may take a while, but it would happen. That little witch would be wrapped around his finger in no time at all, and it would all be worth it.

He'd always found a way to make things work to his advantage, and this was no different.

He took another celebratory sip of his whiskey, this time a much longer one. Oh, how sweet the aftertaste of revenge would be. How sweet indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Finding Help**

* * *

 

The next morning, Hermione was greeted by the sensation of sore muscles in her legs, arms and neck. Her legs were sore from being held in a body bind and being magically restrained to a chair, as were her arms. She moved to role her pained neck, cringing slightly as it resisted. She'd been up for most of the night, reading through three of the four texts she'd purchased from Gelival's Peculiar Texts. The sisters seemed genuinely unaware of her presence in the store earlier that night, and proceeded to greet her again, saying the same things. Hermione felt like it was a bizarre case of dejavu, but instead of screaming out  _He's back! Voldemort's back! The bastard has bested death once more!_  as she wished to, a small smile graced her face and she kindly returned their "hellos".

Jesiva and Maria seemed slightly put off by her decision to purchase the one book out of the four that she hadn't read through after leaving, the book with answers, or at least  _some_  answers. They made a point to tell her over and over how dark of a text it was. Hermione expected a reaction similar to that, considering how careful she'd been about the pieces of literature she'd purchased there in the past.

Frankly, she was almost frightened to pick up any dark texts after the war. After Hermione had seen what a deep interest in the Dark Arts could lead to, she had no desire to accidentally stumble upon any path similar to the one Voldemort had taken. She shivered at the thought of it.

After rubbing sleep from her eyes and noticing the time, Hermione rolled out of bed and brushed herself off. She hadn't even changed her clothes, and her bed was still adorned with scattered literature. She groaned at the thought of cleaning up the mess her room had become the night before and pattered into her small bathroom, reliving the events of her night over again and considering how utterly  _stupid_  she had to be to take an Unbreakable Vow with the Dark Lord. The bloody fucking Dark Lord, of all people! She'd been better off taking an Unbreakable Vow with Bellatrix Lestrange, and  _that_  was saying something. As Hermione moved to the faucet to wash her face, she noticed how grim she looked. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost, but considering the circumstances, she couldn't necessarily blame herself for the emotional slip ups that compiled last night, nor could she blame herself for her current disheveled state. Her hair was in a state of disarray, the small amount of mascara she'd had on from yesterday smeared, eyes puffy and red.

She was frightened of her situation, but that was to be expected. Hermione realized that although the circumstances weren't the best, she may be able to use them to her advantage in the future. Voldemort wouldn't stay hidden for long. His pride wouldn't let him do that. He was the type of person that  _needed_ to show off any and every power he had at his disposal, especially his new found "power" in the realization that he had a soulmate. He wouldn't be able to resist letting those he considered inferior know that he had returned…  _again_. And as such, if she allowed herself to get close, eventually the information she would come to know as a result would be of help to the Order, or what was left of it. Many of their members had been killed in action, some even disappeared after the war.

Deciding that now was not the time to dwell on that, Hermione hurriedly entered her shower and bathed herself quickly. She pulled her dark red shower curtain out of the way, and reached for her burgundy bathrobe hanging on the back of her bathroom door. She smiled a little at the colors that made up her bathroom and the rest of her flat, bringing back the thought of her house during her time at Hogwarts; Gryffindor. Thinking of it now made her happy, as the time she, Harry and Ron had spent together in their common room, dressed in deep red and gold during their time at school prickled its way into her mind.

The smile was quickly wiped off of her face when she exited her bathroom and her eyes landed on a rather handsome young man with perfectly placed, dark wavy hair and a melting smirk plastered on his structurally perfect face who was currently perched lazily upon her bed. Hermione shrieked out of surprise, her eyes frantically searching for her wand.

"If we are to marry, Hermione, you must learn how to properly produce wards that will either keep intruders out or mangle them for attempting to enter your quarters. You will become a target eventually." Riddle said, yawning slightly while twirling his wand in his hand.

"What the  _fuck_  are you doing in my flat?!" Hermione yelled, sending a wordless and wandless stinging hex at him. Riddle lifted his wand and deflected it, his smirk growing wider.

"My dear, I've only come to wish you an enjoyable first day in your new positions as Assistant Director of the… Muggle Relations department," a sneer appeared on his face as he mentioned muggles, but it was quickly replaced with an emotionless stare. "I appreciate the skills you've shown off here, dear. Wordless and wandless? My, my, my, what fun we shall have indeed."

Hermione had the urge to roll her eyes, but didn't, for the mere fact that she was standing in a bathrobe in front of the most feared wizard of modern times, without a wand.

"As much as I'd love to thank you for your well wishes, I have a hard time believing it's anything other than a ploy on your part to make me feel more comfortable in your presence, which I assure you, I don't. The other likely possibility is you're curious as to whether or not I've read that book and made a decision, which I haven't." Hermione's tone was sarcastic, which made Riddle chuckle.

"Oh, you are the perceptive one out of your little trio, aren't you?"

"Fortunately."

"I see." Riddle stood, and Hermione immediately tensed. He moved towards her swiftly, and gracefully swept a hand over her still damp cheek. She shivered, and his smirk widened. He pocketed his wand. "I pose no threat to you today, Miss. Granger. And if you accept my proposal, you shall never fret about your safety… or that of your insolent friends, if you behave." His voice was soft, but there was a hint of a threat hidden in his tone. With that, he left the room, and Hermione heard her flat door shut.

As she dressed for work, Hermione contemplated Riddle's words. If she were to accept this ridiculous proposal, she would be granted safety, and so would her friends. But she was sure that once Riddle was seen or his name was mentioned, or he publicly came out and announced that he was alive and well, those who knew of his life as Tom Riddle would assemble and begin to form a plan to annihilate him… again. The idea of Obliviating Harry and Ginny's memories of Tom Riddle wandered into her mind, but she found it to be inconvenient. If she was somehow able to Obliviate the memory of Riddle from both of their minds, it would still work against her. What would she do when the time came for her to give them information, as much as she could anyway, with the vow and whatnot? They wouldn't have the slightest idea of what she was talking about. And then came the question of how to give information around the vow. Riddle was very intent on keeping any loopholes out of their vow, to keep Hermione from revealing his presence in the living world.

But if she did not Obliviate Harry and Ginny's memories of Riddle, and Riddle announced himself alive and wed to none other than Hermione Jean Granger, Harry would be more than motivated to take him out, and would end up blaming the entire thing on himself. And although Hermione had great faith in Harry due to their past endeavors, she knew Voldemort would not be as easily fooled as before. He would be much more careful and calculated in his rise to power, and he would realize the full extent of Harry's Gryffindor-esk ways. His need to be the hero, to sacrifice himself to save others, to take full responsibility for the situation at hand.

And although Hermione admired that, she believed it to be foolish. Especially when dealing with a sly and sneaky Dark Lord. At this point, Hermione didn't see that hypothetical confrontation between Harry and the newly-risen-yet-again Lord Voldemort ending any other way than with Harry dead, and maybe others close to her as well. She would not be able to help because of the vow, and she couldn't risk their lives. She couldn't lose anyone else.

With the internal battle going on in her mind of what to do in this frightful situation, Hermione slipped on her black flats she usually wore with her black work robes and holstered her wand. She moved to grab her beaded bag off of her white nightstand, but froze momentarily when her eyes landed on her unmade bed and the four books that lied upon it, three of them open, the fourth closed. With a flick of her wand, her bed was made, and the books were closed and stacked on top of each other, neatly placed on the bookshelf adjacent to her bed.

She made her way out of her flat, locking her door with a much more complicated locking spell than a simple  _Alohomora_  could unlock. She looked at her flat door thoughtfully as she stood in the hall of the inn that she rented from in a small wizarding district close to Diagon Alley, wondering how in the _hell_  Tom Riddle, ne Lord Voldemort, made it through her detection and deflection wards without her noticing, and more importantly, without a single scratch on him.  _I'll need to strengthen my wards when I return after work._  She inwardly decided, and made her way to the floo in the foyer of the inn.

She sent a smile to the inn keeper, Marius Dredskew, who grimaced in her direction. Dredskew wasn't the nicest wizard around, being a half blood who let his innate dislike for Muggles come out in small jabs during conversations with other wizards and witches, but he was, all around, a fair man, and his inn was relatively close to Diagon Alley after all. Although Apparition was available to her being a witch, along with other means of wizarding travel, Hermione enjoyed doing things the "muggle" way, walking and enjoying the scenery around her every now and again when the weather permitted.

Hermione always figured it was best to avoid confrontation with him as much as possible to stay on good terms with the Dredskew, but she made sure to speak when it felt appropriate. Today was one of those days.

"Hello, Mr. Dredskew. I trust your morning is going well?" she asked in a faux delightful tone, tilting her head slightly and allowing the small smile on her face to grow wider.

The rather short, chubby, bald man looked up from his paperwork. "Yes, yes, Miss. Granger. I trust your morning is going rather pleasantly. I saw this in the paper this morning. I see it fit to offer a congratulations in regards to your promotion in your rather… interesting field." Unlike Voldemort, Mr. Dredskew had nothing to gain by hiding his general disdain for the idea of speaking to or interacting with muggles more than he needed to, so the frown that accompanied his statement stayed plastered on his round face.

Hermione nodded in acknowledgment of his congratulatory statement instead of verbally responding. She was somewhat afraid that her mouth would get the best of her, and she would call him out on his obvious disdain if she spoke, especially considering her encounter with a certain Dark Lord earlier that morning. "I'll be off to work now." she stated awkwardly, and made her way to the dark brick fireplace. She grabbed a handful of sand, stepped into the floo and shouted, "Ministry for Magic!"

* * *

 

After an interesting encounter with his soulmate, Tom Riddle resigned to his own manor, a home on the outskirts of Britain, out of the way and charmed to appear as if nothing at all embellished the vast acres of land around it. There was much more planning to do, especially if things were to go the way he wished. Hermione was very much aware that he was the Dark Lord, the same man she and the Order fought so hard against to 'save all of wizardkind from the likes of Lord Voldemort'. He scoffed at the idea. Swaying her would not be easy, but he became well versed in the adventures of the _'Golden Trio'_. As much as he hated to admit it, he had to respect Hermione for her part in defeating him. She was their brains, wit and strategy. Without Hermione, Potter and Weasley would've never been able to locate, retrieve and destroy his horocruxes. He was not exactly sure how they'd managed to enter both the Ministry and Gringotts, but he'd bet their plans and successes had absolutely everything to do with her.

There was no denying that the creation of seven, no, eight, counting Potter, horocruxes took a toll on his psych. He also had to take into account his time feeding off of unicorn blood, the ritual to give him yet another body during the Triwizard Tournament. He had been deranged, maniacal, and downright idiotic in his actions. He took his ideals too far, he realized.

Maintaining blood purity was no longer a priority of his. He himself was a half-blood, much as he still hated to admit it. He was not particularly fond of Muggles, or anyone for that matter but, wizards would eventually become extinct if pureblood families continued to breed with other pureblood families. Not to mention the birth defects and Squibs that resulted from such activities. Breeding with other purebloods reaped no reward.

Purebloods were not anymore superior, magically or otherwise, due to blood. They may have fooled themselves into believing that notion, however, it was much more plausible that pureblooded children were superior in magical ability and intellect specifically because they were  _raised_  in that environment and were constantly coming into contact with other magically capable beings, not because of anything genealogically related to being bred by two wizards who were breed by two more wizards, and so on and so forth. They were celebrated for their magical abilities rather than tolerated or humiliated because of them.

Now, Tom was much more interested now in being a leader that any wizard, Muggleborn, Pureblood or otherwise, could rally behind and respect. It was illogical to believe that the subject of blood purity would take him very far in this day and age.

But, all of that aside, Tom was alive and well again, in his true form, not one destroyed by horocruxes and rituals. He would be smarter this time, make more intelligent and well placed moves. He had already begun that stride by locking Hermione into an Unbreakable Vow. She would not be able to speak of his true identity, and she would be unable to allude in any way, shape, or form to his return. He was hopeful that her need to protect her friends and family at any cost would allow her to Obliviate the Weasley girl and Potter. Hermione was far from stupid, and she knew that if Potter gave him one reason, just  _one_  reason, to destroy everything he loved as means for revenge, he would do just that. She also knew that Potter had a knack for being hero of the day, and would stop at nothing to eliminate him once more, although Tom was more than sure he couldn't and so was Hermione even if she didn't want to admit it. As such, Hermione, would be inclined to keep that from happening, and she knew Tom wouldn't stay hidden for much longer.

What she  _didn't_  know, however, was that he did not plan on revealing himself as Voldemort. She, along with his remaining Death Eaters, would be the only individuals privy to that bit of information. She was sworn to secrecy on the matter, as were each of his Death Eaters. He would be Tom Riddle, a man whose cohorts of his own time had vanished by then, and as such, he wouldn't be remembered as a boy who attended Hogwarts from the late 30s to the early 40s.

Dumbledore had helped him in that feat as well, deigning it necessary to destroy all mention of Tom Riddle from school records. Ah, Dumbledore. The old, meddling fool. Speaking of, Tom had decided it was absolutely imperative to either remove his portrait from Hogwarts to prevent any slip of information once he revealed himself and began a public race for power, or to silence his portrait on the matter.

That was one of many things he would need to speak to Hermione about. As long as he dangled a threat over her friends heads, he would have her under his thumb for a period of time. He had no doubt in his mind that Miss. Hermione Granger would find a way around the web of secrecy he was entangling her in. But, for that period of time at the least, he would have her knowledge at his disposal, as long as he made her aware of how serious he was. He was not a man of empty threats, and if she did not succumb to his will, he'd be sure to remind her of that fact.

And, as he made his way to his drawing room, decorated in black furniture with green embellishments, he began to ponder the Soulmate situation.

He was well aware of the benefits of having a Soulmate, especially one that was so in tune with her magic. It would allow him to draw on her magical power, although she wasn't aware of that yet.

Tom sat down in his office chair, positioning his elbows on the desk and his hands folded together.

Hermione was a powerful witch, much more so than anyone had ever given her credit for. During the war, he was unaware of what a gem the golden trio contained. Tom could admit to no one but himself how severely he and his Death Eaters had underestimated her, even after Draco's reports from his sixth year.

_"Draco," the Dark Lord called from the head of the table in an ever so soft but frighteningly demanding tone. A platinum blonde young man craned his neck around another, much older stark blonde man, visibly shaking as he answered._

_"Yes, my Lord?" The young man in question's voice was trembling, and it caused a few of his senior Death Eaters to attempt to stifle a chuckle._

_"Silence!" His once soft voice turned hard and harsh, and the poorly stifled chuckles ceased immediately._

_Draco felt his father nudge his leg, a signal that he must still himself in the presence of the Dark Lord, no matter how frightened he may be._

_"Draco," Voldemort repeated, a bit more forcefully now. "Please, go on and inform us of any information you believe to be particularly valuable on the Weasley boy and Potter's Mudblood."_

_Draco, still shaking but a stoic expression on his features, opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by his aunt._

_"My Lord, if I may," Bellatrix began, her dark curls shuffling about her head in crazed, stiff movements._

_"Yes, Bellatrix?" Voldemort's tone was one of annoyance and hurry, and Bellatrix quickly moved on with her statement._

_"I don't believe the Weasley boy or the Mudblood pose a threat to us. He is from a family of pathetic sympathizers and she is impure. I don't believe the Weasley can understand half of his school books, let alone provide Potter any assistance in his part of the war. And the Mudblood-"_

_"Bella," Voldemort cut her off and she immediately clamped her mouth shut and stilled herself, head bowed slightly. "I did not ask for your incite on Weasley or the Mudblood. I will explain this once since the lot of you are too dense to comprehend. It would do us a great disservice to simply ignore any… strengths our enemies may have, regardless of their pedigree."_

_"Of course, my Lord." Bellatrix shriveled back into her nightfall black dining chair, looking down at her hands with a sour expression on her paled face. It was a pity that she did so, for had she continued to face her Lord, she may have seen him rise and point his yew wand in her direction. She may have been somewhat prepared for the immense pain that came along with the Cruciatus curse, especially the Dark Lord's torture curse._

_The word fell from his lips as if it were a lullaby, as if it were soothing to hear. He smirked in dark satisfaction as the black haired witch writhed about, gripping her dining chair as if it were the only thing she knew to do. She kept her mouth sealed tightly, but as he focused just a tad bit more, a blood curtling scream left her lips._

_Voldemort lowered his wand, his gaze dropping from Bellatrix to roam the table of his closest followers. The expressions on their faces ranged from frightened to stoic._

_"Now," his soft voice commanded the attention of each and every being in the room, as it usually did, "I believe it is of the utmost importance that each of you learn from this, lest you be underneath my wand for questioning me or… disappointing me,"_

_The last bit was directed at his youngest follower, the youngest Malfoy, who swallowed rather loudly._

_Draco fought the urge to run a hand through his hair in an attempt to coast his anxiety, looking up at Voldemort, silently asking for permission to speak._

_Voldemort nodded once as he sat down rather gracefully, more gracefully than he thought possible._

_"Granger is particularly gifted in the retention of knowledge, my Lord. She has always spent an immense amount of time in the library. She is quick witted with a thirst for knowing more… but she does seem to have a bit of a dark side about her." His voice was trembling, and as he tried to steel himself, he realized he could not._

_"And what of the Weasley boy?" His tone was one of boredom. The eldest Malfoy in the room, Lucius, lightly pinched his son's leg as a warning. Lord Voldemort did not fare well with boredom, and as such, he knew there would be no salvation for his one and only child if he did not give the Dark Lord any information of importance. Everyone at the table was aware that Granger had a talent of retaining what she'd learnt and the ability to outsmart nearly everyone in Hogwarts, even if it was begrudgingly admitted._

_"He-His sister is of particular interest to Potter." The pang of guilt hit Draco like a case of morning sickness, feeling as if he had just given up an innocent name. Because he had._

_At this, Voldemort smirked. "Very well." He turned to address the table. "Attacks are to be centered around the red headed girl-what did you say her name was?"_

_"Ginny, my Lo-"_

_"Yes, yes, Ginny. Attacks are to be centered around Miss. Ginny Weasley. Death is optional but capture is preferable. And should Potter step in, I am to be called immediately if I am not accompanying you on this mission. Am I understood?"_

_A resounding "Yes, my Lord." rung around the table as Voldemort sat back in his seat at the head of the dining table. He sighed and began rubbing circles around Nagini's head. "Let dinner be served, then."_

As Voldemort thought back to that moment, he realized he should've taken the Malfoy boy much more seriously. Their attempts to capture or eliminate the Weasley girl failed, each and every time. But no matter. He would exact revenge in a different, much more satisfying way. Potter didn't have to be dead. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was much more preferable that Potter wasn't dead. He would convince Hermione to Obliviate the Potter boy and his wife, and as such, his carefully planned ideals would begin to unfold. And it would be such a lovely sight when it was said and done.

* * *

 

"Granger!" Hermione's head swiveled at her name being spoken by a familiar voice, an annoyed look crossing her face at her work being interrupted.

"Yes? I'm in the middle of writing up a proposal for squibs entering the muggle world to the muggle Minister."

Helen Conlie, a muggleborn who was also involved in Muggle Relations, put a hand on Hermione's desk and smiled down at her. Hermione looked up at the dirty blonde, green eyed girl. Helen smirked down at her, and Hermione couldn't help but grin. Helen was somewhat of the trouble maker at work-always involved in some sort of scandalous activity. She reminded Hermione of the twins slightly.

"And would  _that_  happen to be more important than catching lunch with your favorite co-worker?" Helen asked, moving her hand to wave Hermione over as she began to walk out of the office. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Actually, it would. I'll take lunch later, after I'm finished."

"Come on, Hermione! It's just lunch."

"Oh, is it? I vividly remember the last time I took 'lunch' with you, Helen. It consisted of a clothing shopping spree after you told me we'd just be going to get your work robes restitched. We almost got fired over that, you know! You had us back here an hour over break!" Hermione exclaimed, looking back down at her work. She dipped her quill in ink and continued writing, hoping that would be enough to convince Helen to leave without her.

It was never enough for Helen, though.

"Yes, Hermione, I remember. I was there, you know. You could've gone ahead without me." Helen twirled a piece of wavy blonde hair around a pail finger, now leaning up against the doorway to Hermione's office, sounding awfully bored.

"And let you wander the streets of Diagon Alley for Merlin-knows how many more hours? If I'd left you, you'd never come back. You'd have surely gotten fired."

"And that is precisely what I have you for, Hermione. I promise it'll just be lunch."

Hermione put her quill down with a little more force than usual, glaring up at Helen. "No, Helen. I'd much rather get my work done first. This is my first day as Assistant Director of this department and I will not take any chance of being late."

Helen flinched a bit at Hermione's tone, letting her hand fall back to her side. Her eyes softened slightly as she spoke. "What's got your knickers in a wad today, Granger?" Despite her use of a generally condescending statement, Hermione knew Helen meant well. She was a playful person, but she had a big heart. She was pretty good at her job aside from her lunch time shopping sprees and late nights out at the pub which normally caused them both to be late to work the next morning, considering Hermione never quite felt comfortable leaving her alone. She was quite good with magic as well.

"I'm just stressed, Helen. I'm sorry if I'm being jumpy, but this promotion means a lot to me and I'd like to get my first assignment done as quick as possible. I worked hard for this." Hermione's tone was careful, but Helen accepted this answer.

"Alright, alright. I'll leave you alone. But at least let me bring something back for you from the Leaky Cauldron. Knowing you, you'll never eat or take care of yourself otherwise. Just look at that hair! How

many times have I shown you the sleekening char-ouch! What was that for?" Helen exaggeratingly rubbed her arm and giggled, trying to rub away the itch from the weak stinging hex Hermione had sent her way.

"Wandless magic, Granger? New surprises from you every day. You're quite brilliant, you know." She giggled again, and Hermione laughed with her.

"You'd be surprised at the things I know, Helen." Hermione said jovially, but there was much truth to it. She'd attempted to stay under the radar after the war, not particularly liking the attention or the constant attempts at interviews conducted by different magical news agencies, particularly the Daily Prophet. She figured that that would serve her well going forward, in case, Merlin forbid, another Dark Lord arose. Or, a particularly stubborn one didn't actually stay dead.

Hermione was grateful that she'd made that decision, because it would greatly come into play now. Her face darkened at the thought, and Helen noticed.

"Well, I'll be leaving you to your thoughts then, Granger. I'll be back in an hour with your meal." Helen sent one last smile Hermione's way, and she disappeared into the corridor.

Hermione's head hung low as she finished her letter to the muggle Minister. She couldn't seem to get her mind off of that last little fact to flow through her head. The Dark Lord was back, and she had a sneaking suspicion that she had very little time to come up with an answer before he began manipulating her as he had so many other wizards and witches before her.

* * *

 

Later on that night, after showering and eating a rather meek meal, Hermione gathered the courage to open the book. The book that was supposed to confirm information Voldemort had given her, and hopefully, give her a way out, or at least help her find a way to use this situation to her advantage. She was almost scared to touch it, frightened it might burn her physically or maybe psychologically somehow.

Trembling, Hermione ran a hand across the worn, deep blue cover, turning the book on its side to admire the almost glittering gold spin. As she did, she read the title of the book in a solemn voice in her mind.

_The Theoretical Properties of Soulmates_

"Doesn't seem so dark." Hermione muttered to herself as she remember the sisters' clear warning to her.

_"Hermione, I know how you are about Dark texts. If you're concerned about the effects of dark literature, that is no book for you. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer one of our other books on soulmates, dear? We've got plenty." Jesiva hurriedly shuffled Hermione over to a section of books on the topic, but Hermione hesitantly shook her head. "No, thank you, Jesiva. I'd prefer this one."_

_The sisters stared at each other with a grim look on their faces for a long moment. Maria spoke first._

_"Alright then, deary! You know we've no problem with texts such as these, can't be too Dark you know, or else we'd have a ministry official asking us to move on down to Nocturn, right?" Her false-light tone made Hermione shiver, and Jesiva smiled the smallest, most forced smile Hermione'd ever seen on her face._

_"That's right, Maria. But Hermione, remember, you can always bring that one back if you find it's too Dark for you. You may want to start off with something less dreary if you're wanting to study darker texts."_

The conversation was forced and awkward, something Hermione had never thought possible of the Gelival sisters. They were never awkward. They may make others feel awkward, but  _they_  were never awkward, nor was any conversation they struck up. Maybe odd, but not forced. What could be so bad about a book on soulmates?

With that thought fresh in her mind, Hermione opened the book. She immediately felt an odd rush of magic run through her, causing her to shiver.

Hermione spent her night reading the book, sincerely confused as to why the sister considered this a 'dark' text. She'd yet to reach the section of the book that would allegedly refer to the type of soulmates she and Voldemort were, but thus far, the book only seemed to cover subjects on less powerful types of soulmates and how being bound could affect daily life, short term and long term problems, and the names of documented soulmates of each kind throughout history.

She turned the page to a new chapter, one of the last chapters of the book. Finally. She thought, excited and slightly frightened to learn more about her predicament.

_Chapter 17: Inaversibilis Soulmates_

_The Inaversibilis Soulmate is a bond like no other. This bond contracts two extremely different, yet similar in magical power, souls together for the duration of a lifetime. Both souls must meet both sets of qualifications for Fate to bind them together. There are six documented cases thus far, and as more arise, this book is magically altered to include those individuals._

Hermione read through the list of names, unsurprised at most. After the mention of each pair, the book would go into some details about each person in particular and what, if anything, each pair did together that was considered significant in magical history. All but one pair of the five she'd have read about thus far were considered to have contributed something of great importance to the wizarding community or to magic itself. Some pairs had even created new types of magic with enough concentration and time.

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald_

_This coupling of Inaversibilis Soulmates is an interesting duet indeed. The pair began as best friends, as Fate itself would have it. The pair became magically in tune with one another, Dumbledore being especially gifted in the area of Transfiguration and to an extent, magical invention, and Grindelwald being extensively interested in the Dark Arts and magical artifacts. Together, Grindelwald believed them to be unstoppable. The wizarding world would not have been equipped to deal with such a pair, should Dumbledore have decided to continue his affiliation with Grindelwald._

_Grindelwald became so obsessed over magical artifacts, that he adopted the symbol from magical lore tale 'The Deathly Hallows', as an emblem of himself and later, his movement. It was through his search for the Deathly Hallows that he met his extraordinary counterpart, Dumbledore. The two had a great want to find the artifacts mentioned in the tale of the Peverell brothers, as they believed it would allow them to become Masters of Death._

_The pair also spoke of overturning a piece of legislation that has been considered the single greatest protection the wizarding world has, ever since its inclusion, the Statute of Secrecy. They believed with their combined experience and power, that they could rule over the muggle and wizard worlds. This idea may have very well rung true, had it ever come to pass._

_Eventually, their ideals were outed to Albus' brother, Aberforth, who was not supportive of their motives or plans. A conflict arose, and climaxed as Grindelwald placed Aberforth under a Cruciatus curse. The conflict ended with the killing of the Dumbledore brother's sister, Ariana. Grindelwald fled, and the Dumbledore brothers mourned the loss of their sister. It was then that Dumbledore decided he must leave this cause, as it was one that not only killed his sister, but he realized that it would only turn many more into victims like her. He vowed to himself, and to Fate, that he would do whatever was within his power to defeat his Soulmate when the time came, if the opportunity should prevent itself. This was also considered the turning point of a soul affiliated completely to the Dark, and Dumbledore's reaction considered a soul affiliated completely to the Light._

_Dumbledore began teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, while Grindelwald began building an army of witches and wizards who believed 'purebloods' to be above anyone of less than complete wizarding pedigree. Grindelwald's mass attempts-and successes, at man slaughter and outright murder of those who disagreed or stood in the way of what he believed to be his rise to power, began to become too much for Dumbledore. The guilt over the decisions his soulmate made, decisions he believed were responsible for taking and destroying so many innocent lives, things he believed himself able to end, became a guilt he could no longer bear._

_Dumbledore feared his involvement and romantic interests in his early life with Grindelwald may surface, and, even worse, their status as Inaversibilis Soulmates may arise. The public may believe him unable to defeat his mate, maybe even likely to join Grindelwald's cause once more, and that was something that could not-should not, be known for that reason, and For the Greater Good._

_As Grindelwald began to gain even more power and even more territory, Dumbledore began to plot a way to meet and duel with his mate. He was well aware of his inability to cast a killing curse on his mate, but he was sure Fate was not cruel enough to keep him from defending the wizarding world by incapacitating Grindelwald._

_Fortunately, he assumed correctly. The duel was one for the ages. An entire landscape was completely obliterated in the process, and eyewitness accounts say that not only was the duel visually beautiful, yet terrorizing, it was also very clear that Grindelwald lost the energy quickly throughout the duel, and one report stated: "It seemed as if his magic lost its will power… as if it was unable, or unwilling, to defeat Dumbledore. An odd thing to witness, that was." This is a direct example of the consequences of attempting to defeat or leave your mate out of ill or mal intent._

_A pain will surface, so intense that it will be nearly impossible to cast a spell more powerful than a common household charm. If the intensity of the pain is not enough to keep the magical power of the ill intended mate at bay, then Fate will order the ill intended mate's magic to become unwilling instantaneously. This is what truly lead to the victory of Albus Dumbledore within this duel. It is said that Dumbledore may have attempted a killing curse, as the faintest of vibrant green light was seen at the tip of Dumbledore's wand, but he was unable to cast._

_Fate was much kinder than usual that day, as a killing curse cast by one Inaversibilis Soulmate to another usually ends in the death of the caster. Albus was said to have collapsed after that. Many believed it was out of exhaustion, but those who are well versed in the subject of soulmates and the few who knew of the pre existing relationship between the pair knew something else, Fate, was presenting itself in the form of extreme pain, a pain said to be stronger than that of the Cruciatus._

_Fate spared Albus Dumbledore's life that day, but I would not expect it to be as kind to you, Hermione Granger, should you attempt the same on your mate._

Hermione's eyes felt as if they'd bulge out of the sockets.  _Did… did a book just… address me by name?_  She almost couldn't believe what she was thinking, but she supposed she shouldn't be surprised. She read the line over and over again, trying to understand how this was happening.  _Perhaps, since the book is magically altered to include the names of new pairs of mates, it is also magically altered to attune itself to the magical signature of the reader?_  The wheels in her mind began turning as she turned the page.

_Hermione Jean Granger and Tom Marvolo Riddle_

Text began appearing on the page then, text that went into great detail about each of their early lives, and what each of them had done so far to affect magical history. Hermione shut her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. She couldn't talk to anyone about this, or she'd die, as per rules of the Unbreakable Vow. She couldn't eliminate Voldemort and then talk to anyone about it either, as per the set of rules Fate deigned proper for Inaversibilis mates. What was she to do? It wasn't as if there was anyone alive she could speak to who would understand anyway, unless…

_A portrait isn't alive… nor is it a person, though it holds a person. I guess I could…_

And with that final thought, Hermione shut the book in her lap that told her so much and so little.

She needed to talk to Dumbledore's portrait, and quickly, before Voldemort figured out the possible loophole in their Vow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Perception of a Portrait**

* * *

 

The next day at work, Hermione rushed past the seemingly hundreds of Ministry works spread throughout the foyer. This was unusual for her-she never had a reason to hurry here. She always arrived to work twenty five minutes early or more, enough to allow herself some time to eat a light breakfast in her office if need be, or to get started on paperwork early, to make a trip for the Minister regarding her department, whatever it was she might've needed to do.

Today however… today was different. Today she was in a rush, the same kind of rush she was all too familiar with throughout her years at Hogwarts. She was in a rush because of a pompous git named Tom Riddle. _Tom Riddle._  She mocked silently to herself, a sneer appearing on her face as she continued to bob and weave throughout the crowd of workers waiting for the doors to their specific departments to open, or perhaps waiting for room on the elevators.

She needed to get to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office-and fast. Before any of his early morning meetings, errands, what have you. Hermione was one of few people aware of the fact that one of Dumbledore's two portraits hung in the Minister's office, and she had a dire need to speak to him. She just  _had_  to know more about her situation and what it was she could do to help herself through it or, better yet, out of it.

Thoroughly distracted by her discombobulated thoughts, she ended up running smack dab into someone. Her reflexes went wild as she fell onto her bum, hands searching for the slick, black floors of the building.  _Just great._  She thought to herself. _If this is an indication of how the rest of my day will go, I'm in trouble._

"Hey! Watch where you're goi-Hermione?" The voice was oddly familiar. Hermione hadn't bothered to check whom she'd run into yet, as she rose to her feet and swept imaginary dust off of her, saying at the same time, "Listen, I apologize but I'm in a ru-Harry?"

A grin spread across her best friend's face, and she allowed herself to take in his features. Black, unruly as ever hair, pale skin, deep green eyes that felt as if they'd swallow you into whatever sea of emotion Harry was feeling. And a gorgeous smile. How she'd missed that smile.

"Harry!" She exclaimed, and threw herself at him. He was laughing then, hugging her back, as she let more than a few tears run down her face. She'd let him think it was because she'd missed him so much, although there was much more to it now. She knew when the time came, he'd be devastated that Voldemort was back. Hermione wasn't sure when, but she knew he'd find out soon enough.

"Hermione! How've you been? Congratulations on your promotion! You deserve it!" They let go of their tightly woven hug, now holding on to each other's forearms as they examined each other.

"Thank you Harry, really. You look well." Hermione heard herself saying as she wiped away tears from her eyes, trying to keep herself from hyperventilating.

Harry's face scrunched up. "Hermione, are you-are you crying? What's the matter? Is seeing me really all that bad?" He sent her a comforting smile and she giggled.

"No! No, not at all Harry. It's just-it's just really nice to see you." Hermione explained, grinning widely and trying to fight off the voice in her head that sounded so familiar, reminding her what she must do to keep Harry and his family safe.

"Well, how've you been?" Harry asked, scratching his head. Hermione was still sniffling and wiping tears from her eyes, which seemed to make him a bit uncomfortable.

"I've been well. Just trying to get acclimated to the new job, you know. It's an honor, but it's a lot of hard work," Hermione said, thankful that her quick mind came up with an excuse for her slightly odd behavior. She guessed it wasn't unheard of for a person to get emotional when seeing a friend for the first time in a long while, but it wasn't generally something she did now that she didn't have to constantly worry about their safety.

"Oh, I'm sure you're doing great, Hermione. You weren't considered the brightest witch of your age for nothing, yea?" Harry said, grinning at her widely. He took a step backwards.

"Well, it was nice seeing you, Hermione, but I've got to get to the Auror department. Robards will have my head if-"

"Oh no, no. It's fine. I've got to get to Shacklebolt's office. I've, err, got an appointment with him this morning before work, you see." Hermione felt like face-palming herself as soon as the words slipped out of her mouth.  _Shit. I shouldn't have said anything about Shacklebolt. He's going to get suspicious now._

Harry turned back to face her now, eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed. "Really? What for? Is something going on, Hermione? Are you sure you're alright?" The concern in his voice was enough to make Hermione flinch a little, and she just hoped it wasn't too noticeable. Shacklebolt was a former Order member, and as such, he was well aware of the trio's abilities. He was particularly fond the three of them as well, and because of that, they were never asked to come to his office. If someone was asked to head to Shacklebolt's office, it generally wasn't a good thing, and Harry knew that. Shacklebolt was a very hands-on kind of leader, which meant he observed each department and overlooked each worker on a quarterly basis. He'd just completed his rounds for this quarter a week and a half ago, so being called to a meeting in his office within a month after his rounds usually meant disciplinary action.

"I'm fine, Harry. He just wants to make sure I'm getting used to my new position. Nothing to worry about." She smiled reassuringly, and Harry visibly relaxed, but not enough to infer that he was going to let it go all together.

"Oh, alright then. Well, see you. We'll get in touch, get together this weekend or something," he smiled again, and walked forward with his arms spread. Hermione inched forward a few steps and gave in, leaning into his hug. After a few seconds, they backed away from each other, awkward but fitting smiles still spread across their faces.

"Sounds good, Harry. Really, it was nice seeing you. Give Ginny my love." Hermione said, waving a little and turning to head towards Shacklebolt's office. As much as she loved seeing Harry, she'd just wasted a good bit of time on that encounter, time she couldn't afford. She began moving quicker at that notion, disappearing from view.

If she would've looked back, she would've realized that she'd left behind a very confused, concerned looking Harry. _Something's off with her._  Harry thought to himself, hands placed squarely on his hips. turned in the direction of his own work, trying to convince himself that he was just being paranoid.

* * *

 

Hermione finally stopped to catch a breath once she reached the golden door with a face in place of the knocker. Hands on her hips, she bent over slightly to help herself breath. She was winded from running here, with fifteen minutes before her shift started. I have to work fast. She decided, before looking into the face on the door.

"Hello," she greeted, panting still.

"Hello deary. You look a bit winded. What can I do for you today?" The door asked, and Hermione caught herself grinning wildly for no specific reason.  _Magic is a curious thing._  She thought, still a little taken aback by the fact that she was literally talking to a door.  _I should be used to it by now._  She shook her head slightly, which caused the feminine face on the door to cock a would-be brow.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I need to see… the Minister." Hermione breathed in, trying to keep herself from struggling to speak. It wasn't exactly a short walk from the entrance to the office of the Minister, and she didn't have time to wait for elevators, so she'd taken the stairs.

"Oh! Of course. How silly of me. If you're coming to the Minister's office of course you'd be wanting to see him. Just a moment, dear." The face disappeared, causing Hermione's face to crunch up in confusion.  _What the…_  but before she had time to contemplate what exactly was going on, the face was back. "I'm sorry madame, I've lost my head. Your name?"

"Hermione Granger, ma'am." She wasn't exactly sure why she was ma'am-ing a door, but it seemed like the right thing to say. She pulled herself upright and shrugged off the slight fatigue she felt coming on.  _I really need to get back into shape._  She grimaced at the thought, but she shouldn't be so tired after running through the Ministry when she had, at one point, ran through entire forests without breaking much of a sweat.

"Of course, of course." The face disappeared again, presumably to the other side of the door. After a few seconds, the door opened.

"Come in." The deep voice called to her, and she found herself smiling slightly. She walked in and found her mouth agape, enamored by the different artifacts that decorated the office. Some, she knew, were from Shaklebolt's own travels, but others were most certainly older and were received by Ministers who served long before Kingsley. The floor was similar to that of the rest of the building; a glossy black tile, but with an iridescent grating. The walls were golden, like that of the door, and lined with portraits of long-dead Ministers and other high ranking Ministry officials. The ceiling reminded her of the one at Hogwarts in the Great Hall, seemingly changing. At present, the ceiling was charmed to show a beautiful, effervescent sunrise, much prettier than what one might witness at their current location.

"Hermione?" Kingsley snapped her out of her trance, and quickly reminded her of her business here.

"Hello, Minister. Nice to see you again." Hermione greeted, unsure of how to ask to speak to Dumbledore's portrait alone.  _This ought to be interesting._

Shacklebolt gestured for her to take a seat in one of two deep brown cushion chairs seated in front of his desk, and she did so slowly. Dumbledore was eyeing her from his portrait adjacent to the desk, and Hermione had a suspicion that he knew why she'd come.  _But that's impossible!_  She scolded herself for even considering it. How could he know? Well, Voldemort was, at one point, dead, right? Maybe he figured it out somehow. Or maybe he was just reading her body language, which she was sure screamed "uncomfortable and on a mission".

"What brings you in today? It is very nice to see you as well, Miss. Granger, but I have to say, this visit is very unexpected. Has something gone to wrong with your new position?" Kingsley was leaning forward, elbows on his desks hands folded together and placed in front of him. He seemed concerned, but Hermione was slightly annoyed that everyone seemed to be assuming that something was up with her position.  _What? Everyone thinks the "brightest witch of the age" bit off a little more than she could chew?_  She found herself holding back a snort and eyeroll at that.

She then found herself very confused.  _Where did that come from?_  Hermione knew everyone was well meaning and very unaware of her situation. She didn't have a love life that anyone knew of. No family issues with her parents, as they weren't part of her life at the moment. No finance issues, as she was paid well enough, even before being promoted. There was no other logical explanation that anyone could come up with. That type of assumption felt very unnatural, but she shrugged it off and decided to deal with it later.

"No, Minister, nothing like that. You see, I've come across something quite interesting in my research while compiling evidence for a compelling letter I plan to write to the Muggle Minister about integrating squibs into the Muggle world. You see, I've written most of the letter, but I'd like it very much if I could give him some documented cases of how well it's worked in the past, though unregulated. My department is interested in setting up a regulated program involving this, given the extra bit of funding we've received this year, and I'd like professor Dumbledore's input. The department head informed me of a portrait in your office, and as such, I figured I'd come by and ask to speak with him." The lie came so easily out of her mouth, something that was rather unusual for her. She was quick witted generally, no doubt about it. However,  _lies_  didn't come easy to her. Hermione resisted the urge to furrow her brow in confusion.  _What in Merlin's name is going on with me?_

Shacklebolt seemed to contemplate that for a short moment. They both knew this was out of character for her, but after a few seconds, he obliged.

"Yes, yes, of course. Who am I to stand in the way of an academic discussion between a former professor and student?" He chuckled, standing up. He wiped at his beautiful, deep purple robes, motioning towards the portrait of Dumbledore, which was smiling at her with ever twinkling eyes. "I've some business to attend to in a different part of the building anyway. I will inform your superiors of your whereabouts, and the clearance I've given you to be here." He stated, walking towards the door.

"Thank you so much, Minister. This means a lot to me, really!" Hermione nodded once, standing as well and bowing slightly in respect, and Shacklebolt chuckled. "Nonsense Hermione, it is you whom is doing the favor here. That type of proposal is what we need around here, especially from your department. Good day, Hermione." And with that, Shacklebolt left Hermione to her own.

Hermione swiveled her curl adorned head in the direction of the portrait in question. Dumbledore sent her a small smile, and his eyes twinkled as much as they could through the painting. His light blue robes were very similar to those he wore in his days at Hogwarts. She smiled a little at the memory, but quickly shook it off. She has business to attend to, after all.

Hermione unsheathed her wand and performed a silencing charm so that only she and portrait Dumbledore may hear their upcoming conversation. Others in the frames surrounding the room realized this, some narrowing their eyes in suspicion, others pretending to be asleep, and a few leaving their portraits all together.

"Professor-" Hermione started, but was quickly cut off by the raise of Dumbledore's hand.

"There is no need to explain yourself, dear girl. I am aware that you of all witches are quite capable of gathering the information you've used as an excuse to be here this morning. I dare say that was quick thinking on your behalf, although I would not expect much less from you. What has truly brought you here today, Hermione?" Dumbledore inquired, inclining his head slightly. He seemed to know something, Hermione just wasn't quite sure what it was.

Hermione sat back down in the overly cushioned chair she'd been seated in since entering this office and let out a big sigh, unsure of where to begin. She also found herself quite nervous-nervous about what exactly he knew and, more importantly,  _how_  he knew whatever it was he knew.

"Well, professor, it's quite complicated. I've found myself in a very strange predicament that I can only hope to speak with you about." she confessed, an elbow on each arm of the chair, rubbing her temples with her eyes closed.

"You've the Mark of Inaversibilis embedded on your soul, Hermione. I was quite positive of that fact the moment you entered this room. I assume you've done enough research to know that I am well versed in the subject, given my own circumstances, or else you wouldn't be here this morning." Hermione's eyes shot open at this. Dumbledore seemed very sure of himself, and suddenly she felt very queasy. She leaned forward slightly as she spoke.

"I'm sorry, professor, did you just say I've a Mark on my soul? How did you know? What mark? Is it visible or something? Are others able to see it?" Hermione could feel her nerves gathering and screaming at her, screaming that  _this_  is why Harry seemed suspicious, because they could see it.  _Everyone_  could see it.

Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes scrunching up as he did so. "No, no, dear girl. It is not visible. Not to the average eye, at the least," he started, winking at her and settling further into his own chair within his painting. "I had that mark in life, only removed in death. As such, I am able to sense it. Now, I am not one for presumptions usually, however, I am almost certain this is not a mark you share with Ronald Weasley. Whom, might I ask, have you found yourself bound to?" He inquired. Suddenly Hermione felt very ill, and very unwilling to speak. She wasn't sure if it was due to the Vow, the bond, or something else that felt entirely too much like a sickness. After a few silent moments, Hermione spoke softly and Dumbledore's face promptly fell. His eyes were no longer twinkling like that of a thousand stars as they usually did, and he seemed strained as though he didn't hear her correctly, which was entirely possible due to the volume at which she spoke.

"Tom Riddle, sir." Her voice was similar to the squeaking of a mouse. The silence following would've allowed anyone else listening to hear a pin drop.

"I now understand your reluctance to speak." Dumbledore found that this was all he could manage. He'd known Tom to be dead. He'd  _seen_  him pass into the afterlife, disappearing shortly after. He and many other Order members, wizarding citizens and even a few Death Eaters cheered and rejoiced as he entered the Afterlife. Not specifically because he was there, but because it meant that Harry had succeeded. He'd rid the living world of the Dark Lord. Dumbledore believed Tom to simply move to a different realm-a different sector so to speak, out of pride or an odd form of embarrassment. He assumed that, at some point, Tom would find peace in the Afterlife, but of course, he'd found a way back to the living. And it wasn't of his own doing.

So Hermione told him everything. She told him of the bookstore she'd been visiting when he'd revealed himself to her, of his appearance and what he'd asked of her. She told him of how she'd accidentally used a bit of their combined magic in the pure agony she'd felt after Voldemort had announced their status as soulmates, and of his appearance in her flat the morning before. She'd told him of the book she'd acquired, everything she'd learnt from it and everything she wished to know. By the time she was done, she was shaking and crying. She couldn't help the stream of tears as they poured their way from her chocolate colored eyes to her clear, tanned skin, and she couldn't help the slight tremor she'd adopted halfway through her tale.

"First, Miss. Granger, I'd like to offer my condolences. This is not something that I, or, even Tom himself more than likely, expected to happen," Dumbledore began, his usual commanding tone deafened by the shock he was feeling. It wasn't very often that Dumbledore found himself surprised after such a long life on Earth, but, this news was more than surprising.

"But, it is imperative that we begin planning immediately, dear girl. I have little doubt that Tom already has a plan in place that involves you a great deal." Dumbledore said, his tone one of great sadness.

To Hermione, he seemed resigned, almost as if he couldn't believe this was happening. Hermione couldn't blame him. She was having a hard time with this, but she understood the implications of continuing to mop over her situation, instead of planning a way out.

"Is there a way out of this, sir? Certainly there's some kind of ritual, some sort of magic that may be able to break-"

Dumbledore held up a hand, bluntly cutting her off. "Hermione, I understand your reluctance to accept your circumstances, but looking for a way out will only waste very valuable time. It is of great importance that you follow his advice on one thing, and that, my dear girl, will set the stage for everything that should come to pass."

Hermione looked up at his portrait at this, eyebrows furrowed, as she wiped tears from her cheeks. Follow his advice? Follow  _Voldemort's_  advice?

"Excuse me, sir, but why on earth would I do that? Would I not just be giving him what he wants? Helping him reach his goals that much quicker?" Hermione asked, feeling a bit of anger rising at the inclination of doing  _anything_  Voldemort asked her to do.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment before leaning in towards her, his long, ash grey hair sloshing forth as he did so. "But, where there are hastily made plans, there are surely loopholes. Forgive me, Hermione, for what I am about to ask of you is more than even I could bear. But you must heed my warning. If Harry recognizes Tom in this form, he will most certainly want to act. I dare say there isn't a thing that would impede him. As difficult as it may be, Miss. Granger, I do believe it to be of the utmost importance that you remove any memory Mr. and Mrs. Potter hold of the persona of Tom Riddle."

"Harry is too reckless to be privy to that sort of information without reacting." Hermione sighed in that realization, feeling very uneasy. She'd known it would come to this, somehow. If Dumbledore, someone who was very keen on letting people make their own choices and hoping for the best, was telling her that she needed to do this, she needed to seriously consider it.

Fortunately for him, Hermione was willing to do almost anything to keep Tom from ruining the lives of everyone she loved. They'd all built lives after the war. Harry was an Auror, married happily to Ginny, who was heavily pregnant. Ron, a professional quidditch player, dating Lavender. Neville and Luna were traveling across the world in search of all sorts of possibly existing magical creatures that Luna read about in the Quibbler frequently. They all spent their adolescent years looking for ways to destroy a man hell bent on power. They built an army. They lost friends, family members, and invaluable, irreplaceable years of their lives to this man. It was in that moment that Hermione vowed to herself that she would not allow any of her friends to relive that terror. She would bring this threat down herself, through any means necessary.

With a renewed determination, she looked up at Dumbledore. He had an expectant look on his face, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. She was sure he did-she was still a Gryffindor, after all.

"I will, professor. But how am I going to kill him? I can't exactly  _Avada_  him, much as I'd like to. And what about this ridiculousness he's come up with-marriage, that is. Am I really supposed to marry him?" She inquired, obviously wildly uncomfortable with the idea.

"I understand your reservations, truly, I do, Miss. Granger, but a marriage to Mr. Riddle would put you in a position to gain an invaluable amount of information and, more importantly, trust, you understand? We will have to consider a way around the Vow you took, but, as you stated, the Vow only prevents you from speaking to other living beings about your predicament. Not portraits." He chuckled a bit at this, and pushed his half-moon glasses further up his nose before settling his hands in his lap.

"You'd think, in death, my eyesight would've been renewed. I still have to wear this old things." Dumbledore shook his head, still chuckling, and Hermione couldn't help but chuckle with him for a moment. It was quite curious that Dumbledore was unable to see without his glasses, even in the Afterlife.

"Professor, I am willing to do what I must to prevent him from ruining everyone's lives again. But, how do I go about Obliviating Harry and Ginny? That's not exactly going to be easy." Hermione couldn't believe she was hearing those words leave her mouth, but she couldn't risk Harry getting involved. It would most certainly hinder her plan to a great extent.

"Oh, I do agree that it will not be an easy feat, Miss. Granger, but you will think of something. However, I do believe that you will find it to be much simpler given your soulmate's magical ability. You will likely have access to his power when the time is right, and Harry will likely have no use for his Occlumency shields in your presence. Now, Miss. Granger, I implore you to understand that this is not something for you to harbor feelings of guilt over. It is, as I like to say, for the greater good."

The urge to roll her eyes was so strong that Hermione had to shut her eyes entirely. For the _greater good_. Although she knew that Dumbledore's intentions were good, as were her own, nothing would keep her from feeling guilty. Two years ago, she'd done the same to her parents in order to protect them, but the thought of their protection did almost nothing to alleviate the feeling of guilt for taking away the chance for her parents to decide for themselves whether or not they wanted to remember their own daughter. But she knew she had to do it.

"Yes, professor." That was all she could muster up, eyes downcast at her fidgeting hands seated in her lap. Suddenly, a problem she somehow hadn't considered before occurred to her.  _He's a Legilimens! He's going to know I've talked to Dumbledore!_

"But, how will I hide our conversations from him? He's known as the most accomplished Legilimens in magical history! Won't he see right through this?" Hermione couldn't believe that she hadn't thought of this before, but she suddenly couldn't rid her mind of the image of the page of her book that held information on both of their accomplishments and feats so far in the wizarding world. Harry had described in great detail what it was like to have Lord Voldemort lurking in your mind. And surely, if he were back, he'd have someone implanted in the Ministry.  _Someone_  would've seen her.

"I do not believe that is something you should worry yourself over, Miss. Granger. Tom is unaware of my second portrait here at the Ministry, though I would expect he's found a way to rid Hogwarts of my first portrait by now. It is only a matter of time before that portrait is destroyed. Keep in mind, Hermione, that Fate is a tricky mistress. It shan't lead you in the wrong direction if you only heed its warnings and follow the path it has laid out for you. I believe that is what will protect your mind." Dumbledore smiled reassuringly at this, but Hermione did not miss the hopeful note in his tone. He was just as unsure as she was, but he was still trying to keep her from worrying about it. Out of genuinity or out of pure self motivation, she wasn't sure, but either way, she decided it would do her no good to think much on it. Tom couldn't kill her. The worst he could do was find a way to steal and destroy Dumbledore's second portrait, which would be inconvenient, but it would not keep her from her goal.

"Thank you, professor. That's very… reassuring. I trust that this conversation will stay between us. I think that this plan will work best if we're the only two privy to the details." If Shacklebolt found out, it would mean a man hunt which would turn into another war. If McGonagall found out, it would be the same. Dumbledore nodded once in confirmation.

"I, too, believe this plan to be driven on the basis that we are the only individuals who know of it. I do believe the Minister will return soon, so I must bid you farewell. I suggest that we continue meeting, at least once a month, to discuss your next move. But, I believe a warning is in order," Dumbledore paused, the change in tone abrupt enough to make Hermione stifle a jump.

"Be very careful, Miss. Granger. Tom Riddle is very cunning, and he has a way of swaying people to believe as he does. Do not allow him to make you another victim of his charm." The warning and slight threat in his voice did not go amiss, and although Hermione was slightly put off by this, she did her best to conceal it.

He was telling her that if she did not follow their plan, he'd out her. He was telling her that even if she knew better, if he believed her to be swayed by Tom, he'd let someone else finish what he was having her start. He was threatening her.

_How is this any different than what Tom's asked me to do?_  She thought as she rose from her seat, a faux smile fixing its way onto her features, directed at Dumbledore. The twinkle in his eye was gone now, but maybe, just maybe, she'd imagined it in the first place. He was a portrait, after all. Not much about a portrait could twinkle.

"Of course, professor. Thank you so much for your time." Hermione bowed her head slightly and made her way out of the Minister's office, nervous about removing the memory of Tom Riddle from two of her best friend's minds, and more so, nervous about agreeing to marry the most crazed, feared Dark Wizard of all time.

* * *

 

"Why hello, Harry! It's so nice to see you. You know, it's odd that you've come by today. Hermione paid a visit early this morning, before shift." Shacklebolt smiled in Harry's direction as he entered the extraordinary office, gesturing for him to sit.

Harry's brow furrowed as he did so. "Really, Minister? How interesting. You see, I was actually hoping to speak with you about Hermione. I'm a little worried about her." He folded his hands in his lap, wondering why Hermione told him that she was due for a meeting in Shacklebolt's office. It sounded more like a friendly visit than a work-related meeting.

"Her superiors informed me of her impressive work just two days into her new position. She seemed well when she entered my office this morning." Shacklebolt looked slightly concerned now, his head tilted a bit to one side.

"Minister, can I ask what she was here for this morning?" Harry asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he realized Hermione had lied to him about why she was visiting the Minister's office. He just couldn't understand why.

"Generally, Harry, I'd say no, but considering the situation… she wanted to speak to Dumbledore about a project she's leading in the Muggle Relations department. Dumbledore!" Shacklebolt waking the portrait form of Dumbledore from his sleep, and as soon as his eyes landed on Harry, he smiled.

"Why, hello Harry. Minister. For what reason have you awoken me from my afternoon nap?" Dumbledore said, somewhat playfully, but as he took in Harry's expression and Shacklebolt's growing concern, he suspected that the reason for being aroused from his nap had something to do with a certain visitor he had this morning.

"Hello, professor. Nice to see you again. I'm… I'm just worried about Hermione, sir. She seemed a little… off, this morning, I mean, when we ran into each other before shift, and she told me she needed to get to the Minister's office. She was much more emotional than usual, and she seemed anxious about something." Harry's face was one of thinly veiled distress, and as Dumbledore took in the fading lighting-like scar on his forehead, he realized he'd have to assume ignorance.

"My boy, I believe you are misinterpreting Miss. Granger's worries. She spoke with me about integrating squibs into the muggle world, and wanted to know where she could find documented cases of success stories. I told her to speak with Mrs. Arabella Figg. Mrs. Figg's whereabouts were unknown to the Muggle Minister until the end of the second war in order to sustain your safety, as well as her own."

"I see." Harry ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, somewhat more frustrated than he had been before coming to Shacklebolt's office. This didn't seem like Hermione. She had no reason to lie about her visit here if it was as Dumbledore said. But of course, there was always the possibility that she  _and_  Dumbledore were lying, possibly Shacklebolt, too.

"Well," Harry started as he stood from his seated position, a modest, polite smile taking form on his face. "I believe I should be going, then. Ginny might have my head if I'm too late back from shift. Thank you both for your time, and it was marvelous seeing you both. Really." As the last sentence left his mouth, he locked eyes with portrait Dumbledore and his natural discernment kicked in. Something was off.

Both gentlemen bid him farewell, and as he hastily moved out of the Minister's office and towards the floos to head home with an all too familiar look of determination on his face, Harry decided that he would find out what they were lying about and why.  _I will get to the bottom of this._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Unfortunate Circumstances**

* * *

 

Harry made good on his promise, and Hermione received a phone call from him the evening after their run in at work, asking her to come over for supper Saturday afternoon. She accepted, of course, knowing full well that each of them had intentions aside from catching up during tonight's dinner. She wondered if Harry knew that as well.

Hermione dressed herself in a rather simple outfit-a sweater, fitted but flared deep blue jeans, and her trusty black flats. She adorned her right leg with her wand holster, easily hidden with a concealment charm.

Hermione raised her hand towards the space in the brick wall where 12 Grimmauld Place should be, unveiling it with a bit of wandless magic. She knew it was risky to use a wand here in the open, mid afternoon, when a muggle could walk by at any moment and witness her use of magic. She was in no position to spend a few days as the subject of a trial for the use of magic in front of muggles. She was well aware of what she was here to do.

It wasn't to catch up with Potter family, that was certain.

But, as gut wrenching as it was, Hermione knew she needed to do this. Even Dumbledore had told her so. If she didn't, Harry would find out that Voldemort was back one way or another, and she couldn't have that.

Everything,  _everything_  would fall apart.

As well-meaning as Harry was, he'd unintentionally ruin any chance they had at stopping Riddle for good. Blunt tactics wouldn't work this time. Courage and bravery would only get them so far, before it would end up being the exact thing that caused their downfall, as it almost had in the past.

Hermione raised a hand to the dark brown, almost black wooden door, knocking a few times. As she waited for Harry or Ginny to answer the door, she noticed how much cleaner the building looked.  _Harry's been busy._  Hermione grinned at the image of Harry outside with a muggle contraption such as a pressure washer, with a very confused looking Ginny behind him, wondering what in Merlin's name he was doing.

Hermione thought it was quite interesting how hesitant Harry was to use magic to complete simple household chores. He had the ability to raise his wand and completely clean the dirt, grime and mold off of the outside of their home, or to wash the dishes, sweep and mop the floor, wipe down the walls after Albus finished decorating the walls with crayon marks with a simple and efficient  _Scourgify_. But he preferred the muggle way, down on his knees with a wash rag damp with water and soap, pressed up against the wall to remove crayola stains. A mop and a broom for the floors, and a dish rag or the rather interesting and seemingly new piece of muggle equipment, a dishwasher that he'd purchased from a muggle appliance shop in London.

Hermione wanted to laugh because Harry was not one for cleaning, but he chose to do it the Muggle way when Ginny asked him for assistance.

She duly wondered if it was because of all of his years with the Dursley's, whom she was sure had him cooking and cleaning at some point, or if he just enjoyed a bit of manual labor. Knowing Harry, it could easily be the latter.

The front door opened as Hermione contemplated how her best friend preferred to clean his home to reveal a very pregnant Ginny with a young toddler boy on her hip. Ginny wore a light green sweater, black stretch pants and a pair of rather comfortable looking house shoes.

"Hermione! It's so nice to see you!" Ginny leaned in and gave Hermione a half hug, and Albus kissed her on the cheek. "Hi Aunt 'Mione." He said, with a smile that reminded Hermione so much of Harry's spread across his face.

He had his father's brown-black hair and his mother's warm, chocolate eyes. His skin was just as pale as either of theirs, and his face was a mixture of all of Ginny and Harry's best features.

"Hello, Ginny! Why, hello handsome!" Hermione held out her arms and young Albus obliged, switching from his mother's hip to his aunts. "Sweet Merlin, boy! Aren't you just growing like a wild weed."

"Momma say that I will be big and swong like dad." Albus said, lifting his arms to show Hermione his flexed muscles. Hermione allowed her eyes to become huge, staring at his baby muscles with her mouth agape. "Wow! I can't believe just how strong you've gotten. D'you wanna know a secret?" Hermione asked, face suddenly serious.

Albus took note of this, turning his face into a similar expression as his aunts. "Yea! But we can' tell momma. She will tell dad." He urged, staring at Hermione intently. Ginny's mouth dropped open at this assumption, a hand quickly covering her mouth as she held back laughter and watched the exchange.

"I think," Hermione started, her voice a quite loud whisper, "that you're much stronger than your dad already!" she squeezed one of his biceps for effect, and Albus' face lit up.

The door suddenly swung further open, and Harry stood there, looking intently at Hermione. "I'd agree with your aunt, Albus, if it weren't for…" he paused, raising a hand and creating a claw like shape. "This!" Harry began tickling Albus who laughed wildly, and the adults began laughing too. It was nice to bask in the abundance of innocence children brought every now and again.

They were so unsuspecting of fear, worry, hate.

Everything that made the world terrible, small children such as Albus knew nothing of.

_What a way to live._  Hermione thought, silently wishing she could go back to that time of her own life. After a few seconds, Harry took Albus from Hermione and Ginny placed a hand on her swollen belly.

"Come in, come in," she ushered, and Hermione followed her inside. She was interested to see how this conversation would go, and how much Harry had told Ginny about their exchange at the Ministry. If he'd told her anything at all.

After Ginny shut and locked the door behind her, she turned to Hermione with a smile on her face. "So, how's the new job? Congratulations, by the way!" She exclaimed, laying an arm across Hermione's shoulders as she led her to the sitting room.

Hermione smiled back, looking at her friend. "Oh, it's simply wonderful. Lots of work, but well worth it." Hermione smiled, moving along the familiar floors of the home.

Her face involuntarily scrunched up as she realized she didn't recognize the new light yellow color of the walls, the rugs, runners, and other decorative items that were strewn throughout the house.

"Did you redecorate since the last time I was here, Gin?" Hermione asked as they all settled upon a dark brown sectional, covered in fluffy throw blankets and pillows of red, gold, green and yellow.

Ginny's face became bashful, and she began to ramble. "Well I thought the place needed to look a little more homey, sort of an earthy feel like Mum's done with the Burrow. It was a little… dark for my tastes before, and since Harry's inherited the house and Merlin knows it's big enough to fit three or four families our size, I decided it was about time this place got a little spruced up, you know?" Ginny smiled quickly as Albus waddled into her arms from his array of toys, her eyes leaving Hermione's momentarily to pick her son up. "It's also given me and Albus something to do during the day while Harry's gone. He just loves helping mummy pick out new decor for the house, don't you Albus?"

Albus' sneered a funny sneer, and snickered. "No, aunt 'Mione. Momma an' I go shop  _all_  ta time."

Ginny rolled her eyes at that, bouncing her knee a little as he spoke. "Oh, Albus, you're just like your father. You're going to have to get used to the shopping, you know. I'm sure your sister will just love dragging you around Hogsmeade when you're old enough to attend Hogwarts."

Albus shook his head "no" intently, looking very cross. "No, momma!" He put a hand on his mother's belly and leaned in closely. "You won't do that to your big bwother, would you Lil'?" Hermione watched in blunt fascination as she watched a limb move across Ginny's belly in almost slow motion. Albus looked up at Ginny and then Hermione, grinning.

"See, momma? T'at's a no." Ginny shook her head, locks of her thick, vibrant red hair moving along with her. "We've decided to name the baby Lily, but Albus calls her Lil. She moves any time he speaks to her, it's quite funny actually."

Hermione giggled and was about to respond, but stopped as Harry walked into the room. He was smiling, but she knew by the look in his eyes that he was concerned about something.  _His worry is thinly veiled._  She observed. Harry was never very good at hiding his true emotions, especially to those who knew him well. They could almost always tell when something was wrong with him; when he was bothered by something. Before she had time to think on it much more, Harry spoke.

"Gin, I think the oven's going off. Albus, why don't you go help your mother set the table, yea?"

Albus' face lit up as Ginny stood. "Yay! I wuv helpin' my momma." He explained, and Hermione smiled at him. She knew her moment of opportunity was fast approaching. She'd either have to go through with this or risk Harry figuring something out.

"We'll be back in a few moments, Hermione." Ginny said, before she and Albus disappeared down the hall.  _He's told her something. She knows that he wants to speak to me privately._  Hermione decided. Although Ginny certainly wasn't belligerent, she wasn't so easily nudged out of a conversation as she appeared to be today. Unless she knew something. Hermione huffed slightly before turning her attention to Harry.

Harry sat down on the chase side of the sectional, his face determined. He brushed at his sweatpants, appearing casual as he wiped imaginary dust off of himself. "Hermione," he started after a brief moment of awkward silence, looking directly into her eyes. "What is going on with you?"

_I need to stall, just a little._  She decided, looking back at Harry. Harry's stare was not comfortable to be under, and she found herself fidgeting slightly, making herself look even more guilty. Finally, she sighed.

"Nothing is really wrong, Harry. I'm just trying to-"

"To acclimate to your job. Yea yea, I heard that the other day at work." His voice was getting a touch more assertive now, and his eyes were much more intense than they were moments ago. Hermione jumped a bit at his irritated tone, and found herself becoming cross as well.

"And?" Her voice was raised now, but not quite loud enough for Ginny to hear in the kitchen, she hoped. "That's all there is to it, Harry. I told you, this is hard work. More than I was expect-"

"Enough with the lies already, Hermione!" He was standing now, hands balled into fists at his side. He wasn't quite yelling at her, but the notes in his voice were very stern, almost as if he were speaking to Albus.

"I'm  _not_  your child, Harry, and you will  _not_  speak to me that way!" She felt anger building up again, similar to the way she'd felt almost a week ago when she was kidnapped by Voldemort. She tried to push the feelings back, because it absolutely could  _not_  happen here. No.

"Hermione," Harry tried again, his tone much calmer this time. It was almost a desperate sort of tone, and it normally would have made Hermione feel guilty for the way she'd just spoken to him. But it didn't. "I-I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you, okay? You were crying and you seemed-you seemed like you weren't being yourself. And after what you said about Shacklebolt, I visited him after work that day. I just wanted to-I needed to make sure everything was okay, but you lied. That isn't why you were there." He declared, his voice much more confident than it was to start with. His body language began to shift again as he calmed himself down. His hands were relaxed at his sides now, and he looked as if he was about to sit back down.

Hermione's hands balled up into fists as she contemplated his words. She stared at her feet, clad in black flats, trying to study the way the gold trim wrapped around the shoe to keep herself from having another 'tantrum', as Tom had called it.

But it wasn't working.

Tears began to form in her eyes and her breath was coming quicker and heavier as she realized she was having a very hard time controlling herself after being accused of lying, and after the way Harry had talked to her. Harry was right, she was lying to him. She was going to be caught in a very intricate web of lies soon, and she couldn't react like this every time someone was suspicious of her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears away as her mouth formed a hard line. She wasn't going to let this control her, whatever it was. She  _couldn't_. But, she was basically being called a liar by one of best friends, her very  _best_  friend. The one who was supposed to worry about her, the one who was supposed to care. But suddenly, her disdain began to bubble and grow as she realized something. He didn't express any concern before. Why now?

"You can talk to me." She heard Harry say softly. He was closer now, only a few steps away. "We're best friends. You taught me that holding it all in is no good, and I just-I just don't want you to feel the way I used to feel. I still do, sometimes. But if I talk to Gin, or Ron, it helps a lot. Really-"

"What do you know about what I feel?" Hermione's voice was dangerously low, and she could feel the blunt edge of her magic boiling over. She was speaking so slowly, in such a controlled but obviously indignant manner. Harry's face scrunched in an expression of bewilderment, obviously wondering this was coming from.

"What?"

"I said," she stood, eyes locked into Harry's. "What do you know about how- _what_  I feel, Harry?" A sneer worked its way onto her face, and she was sure there was blood on her palms from her nails digging into the delicate skin there.

"You barely speak to me anymore! Any of you! The other day at work was the first time I'd heard from you in  _months_!" She realized that she'd all but hissed the last sentence to him, and tried to stop herself again. She needed to control her breathing. She was breathing so heavily, so heavily, it felt as if she was breathing air the weight of a freight train.

"Hermione-"

" _No_! You don't  _get_  to be worried. You don't  _get_  to care now. Did you ask how I felt when Ron started courting Lavender? Did you ask how I was feeling when I decided not to let my parents remember they had a daughter, or when I did took that memory from them  _in the first place_? I-you-you only  _care_  when someone has bested you. When they've  _lied_  to you... Did you ever think maybe I just didn't want to talk about it? Or was it your own selfish need to fix everything?! There are some things you cannot just fix, Harry." She was looking at him again, somewhat calmed after expressing her feelings to him, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the couch beside him, tears welled up in his eyes.

"'Mione, I'm sorry. You're my best friend. I've just had a lot going on, and-"

"And you find time for Ron. You go to his games. You meet up with him now and again, speak on the telephone, something, I'm sure. But  _I'm_  not Ron, so I'm not as important." She threw her hands in the air out of exaggeration, a few tears spreading across her cheeks. It was quiet for a few moments, and Hermione could hear the muffled voices of Ginny and Albus as they shifted about the kitchen. She heard the clang of silverware, barely heard the soft tone of Ginny's voice as she presumably asked Albus for help with something else. She looked back at Harry, who was still not looking directly at her. He was looking above her, and she could tell he was embarrassed with himself. Suddenly, she felt the urge to smile. It was a relatively minuet smile, but she knew that  _this_  was exactly why she had to go through with Obliviating the two of them. This constant worry when something seemed out of order that plagued both Harry and Ginny. Ginny was just much better at hiding it.

"But you're important to me. All of you," her voice was as soft as a whisper, so soft she thought Harry might not have heard her.

She didn't realize her wand hand was raising to Harry's head, or the confused looked in his tearful eyes. She didn't feel as if she was acting of her own accord, almost as if she'd been Imperio'd. "And that's why I have to do this.  _Obliviate_."

Hermione felt a swarm of memories hit her, as if she was seeing everything Harry remembered about the man named Tom Riddle. Everything she'd removed hit her at once, when Harry'd met him in the Chamber of Secrets, when Dumbledore had shown him memories and told him stories about Tom's time at Hogwarts, when Slughorn allowed Harry to view the memory of Tom asking about horocruxes, when they'd begun horocrux hunting and Harry had a few dreams of defeating or joining Tom while wearing the horocrux locket, and finally, when Harry watched Tom,  _Voldemort_ , die, at the Battle of Hogwarts. Some of the memories changed instead of leaving all together, only showing Voldemort as a waxy-skinned, bald, slit-nosed monster, rather than a handsome teenager whose ambitions were much too crazed for the wizarding world to handle. She made sure to modify the memories of seeing her at the Ministry, and of his visit to Shacklebolt's office. It was too risky to remove them altogether, especially when Shacklebolt still had the memory.

Hermione felt a stream of tears fall from her face to her chest, sliding down her chest and dripping onto her navy blue, long sleeved sweater. She raised her other hand to her face, wiping tears away with her sleeve. Harry's eyes were glassed over, almost as if he'd been possessed, and his head was tilted back from the pressure of her wand hand on his temple.

"Albus decided to take his super in his room to avoid adult conversation, isn't that just hila-Hermione? Harry? What's wrong, Hermione? Hermione, what's wrong with Harry? What's-"

Hermione withdrew her hand from Harry's face, turning to Ginny. She tilted her head vaguely, looking at the way Ginny's eyes flooded with emotion as she tried to figure out what was happening, trying to piece the situation in front of her together. Ginny was drawing her wand, moving closer to where Hermione, and although Hermione was sure it was to help Harry, she couldn't deny the shock of intensity she felt as a flash of fear worked its way through Ginny's expression. Ginny was scared.

Ginny realized that this had something to do with her. She knew Hermione wouldn't be as calm about whatever had happened to Harry if she hadn't had some part in it. Ginny was scared of  _her_.

"Hermione," Ginny said slowly, almost as if she was afraid to startle her. "What happened? I heard you two arguing in the-"

"Nothing is wrong, Ginny. In fact, things will be much better for you both this way."

"You're scaring me, Hermione. What'd you do?" Ginny's face turned into a glare as her eyes narrowed, and she inched closer to Hermione, wand still raised. Her voice was louder now, and her attention flickered between Hermione and Harry for a fraction of a second.

That fraction of a moment was all it took.

Hermione moved quicker than Ginny had ever seen her move, and she felt a warm, petite hand on her temple. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Ginny. I wish there was another way." Hermione comforted softly, before the spell fell from her lips, and she was washed back with morphing and leaving memories, bonding with her magic for when,  _if_ , Hermione ever decided to give these memories back.

Hermione stepped away from the glassy eyed couple, trying to keep her composure. "I can't leave them like this." she said to herself, feeling the built up magic simmer back down. The adrenaline began to leave as well, and she found it harder and harder to control the anxiety budding in it's place. She gasped loudly as the severity of the situation hit her, a hand clasped over her mouth. She shut her eyes, hoping that once she opened them, this image would leave her mind. She'd done it. She'd just obliviated two of her best friends, in a state of anger. In a state of  _rage_ , more likely. The underlying motive was still there, to protect them. But the agitation that came with realizing that she just wasn't as important to them as Ron, or Lavender, or maybe even Neville or Luna, drove her mad. Knowing that Harry didn't care enough to take the time to express concern when began dating a girl she despised, or to find out how she was dealing with her parents still having no part in her life, that Ginny was getting along just fine with her brother's new beau, that  _she_  didn't care enough… it was too much.

And then the guilt hit Hermione, guilt of realizing just how much easier it was for them to see and speak to Ron, seeing as he was Ginny's brother. Guilt because they had Albus, Harry had a very demanding job in the Auror department, they had another child on the way. They had a life, and it didn't revolve around her. She didn't really expect them to have time for that, did she?

_I can't think on this anymore. I don't have time. I need to figure out what's wrong with them._

She couldn't understand why their eyes were hazed over. This hadn't happened to her parents, or to anyone else she'd ever seen who was subjected to this spell.  _What have I done? What did I do wrong?_  Her breathing began to speed up, her blood heating up in her veins, her eyes fluttering. She was starting to panic. She couldn't panic. Not in this situation.

_Think, Hermione, think!_  She willed herself, and suddenly, it came to her. Tom had said that he'd placed Jesiva and Maria under a Confundus charm, most likely a fairly strong one, after he Obliviated them. Hermione quickly drew her wand, pointing it at each of her friends, a quiet " _Confundus_!" following.

Harry's eyes became green again, Ginny's brown. They looked at each other, and then at Hermione, who was no longer wielding a wand. Her eyes were red from crying, and she could only hope her friends didn't notice, lest she have to come up with yet another lie. "What's going on?" Harry inquired, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm… not sure." Ginny responded, a hand on her belly as she sat back down. "I… I remember coming in here to let you both know that dinner was ready."

"Yes! Yes, Gin, you did say that you'd finished super. Let's eat then, shall we?" Hermione offered, a faux smile forming on her features.

Ginny nodded once, a bewildered expression impressing upon her soft facial features as she shuffled uncomfortably out of the sitting room and down the hall, looking rather disoriented.

Harry was staring at Hermione in an unsated manner, as if he knew that she knew what had happened, and had just lied about it. She was positive he didn't remember what had just transpired, however, she knew Harry's mind was strong enough to sense that  _something_ ,

"Hermione?" Harry waved a hand in front of her face as he drew her away from her thoughts. She mentally shrugged it off and smiled. "Sorry, Harry. I was just thinking about how positively lovely it is to be around the three, well, four of you again." He began moving towards the kitchen, and she followed his lead.

"You had me worried there for a moment, Mione. Looked like you were off in space or something." Harry chuckled, running a hand through his hair as they moved along the walls of the home that was once had a much more dreary presence to it. "I'm fine, just happy to be around friends again." She encouraged.

Fine was a curious word to use for her current state of being. She most certainly wasn't fine, but there wasn't much she could do about it then, except go through the motions and make sure that she did not give Harry another reason to be suspicious.

_If all goes well, I **will**  be fine. We will all be fine, Harry. I promise._

* * *

 

After a rather uneventful supper and a bit of conversation after with her two friends, Harry and Ginny, Hermione retired to her flat. She waved at Mr. Dredskew, who grunted in acknowledgement. She had to keep herself from scoffing at the man's attitude, but she decided that she should be used to it by now from him. She'd lived here long enough to know that that man was rarely in an ordinary mood, much less a jolly one. She began her ascent up the stairs when she paused at the sound of his raspy, altogether uninterested voice.

"Miss. Granger," Mr. Dredskew initiated. She turned at her last name, and he continued. "There's a young man waiting for you up there. Name's Tim, Tom, somethin' like that. Said he needs to speak with you about somethin' or another. Do be sure not to cause me any trouble with your neighbors up there. I'd be rather cross with you if I receive any noise complaints. I'm sure you know a silencing spell or two." He nudged his head to the stairs that she was standing on, indicating that she should head on up and meet whoever was waiting on her arrival.

Hermione couldn't help the look of disgust that placed itself on her features of its own accord. Did he  _really_  think Hermione was interested in  _any_  sort of contact of that manner with Voldemort? "I can assure you that nothing of that nature-" she started to explain herself, but decided against it. She had to keep reminding herself that no living soul knew that Tom was Voldemort except for her. After a short moment, Hermione spoke again. "Goodnight, Mr. Dredskew."

He grunted again, and Hermione continued walking up the stairs.

_What in the bloody hell does he want?_  She thought, grumbling to herself as she walked down the hall. He must've already entered her flat, because he wasn't standing outside.  _Does privacy mean nothing to him?_  She rolled her eyes as she reached her apartment, unsheathing her wand to unlock her door. As she walked through the door, she noticed Tom sitting on her beige couch, one leg crossed over the other at the knee.

"You could've waited until I got home to come in, you know. That's generally acceptable in society. I know you're not one for societal norms, but it would please me greatly if I could sustain some form of privacy in all of this." She put her bag down on her kitchen counter and took out a glass from a cupboard. She started the faucet of her kitchen sink and filled the glass before rounding the corner and sitting in the matching beige recliner to the couch Tom was currently sitting in. She placed her glass on the side table beside her before taking a look at Tom.

His eyes were glowering a strange blood-red color, and it made her jump. He was staring at her with an intense emotion that she couldn't quite place. Her hand instinctively reached for her wand, and she felt slightly comforted when she grabbed hold of the hilt.

"Hermione," his soft, velvety voice hummed in a strangely soothing way. Hermione was positive his tone of voice wasn't meant to be soothing, but to her, for some strange reason, it was. In fact, his presence was oddly soothing altogether. It felt right, but she knew that it wasn't right. This wasn't okay. He was the reason she was forced to do this in the first place.

"I trust your task went as planned."

Hermione froze for a moment. She never told him she would actually go through with Obliviating Harry and Ginny. "Did you follow me?" she questioned, feeling a bit of irritation building as she spoke. "If you even misplace a single hair on any of their heads, I will make you feel pain you've only-"

"Oh, Hermione," he started, sounding rather bored. "I did not need to follow you anywhere. You see, during the process, you drew on my magical power in order to complete your task. I began to feel some of your emotion as well. I believe the most intense was... distress." He looked directly at her then, and she found herself feeling uncomfortable under his gaze yet again. He was silent for quiet a few moments before he spoke again.

"It was rather... interesting to feel my power being used by someone other than myself." He leaned forward.

She immediately leaned back further into her chair out of reflex, shrinking away from him. She looked at his eyes, still flashing red in the dim lighting of her living room. Immediately, she realized her mistake. She was showing him that she was uncomfortable and that he had control. He was obviously enjoying the fact that she was squirming under his scrutinization. She decided in that moment that she was not going to give him the satisfaction any longer.

"Tell me, Hermione," he said, a smirk appearing on his lips. "How did it feel to steal the memories of two individuals you consider fri-"

"Look," she interrupted, setting her glass back down. "If you've come here tonight to pester me about what I did, it's not going to get you anywhere. I won't feel bad for it, and I certainly I didn't do it for you. I protected them. I protected them from  _you_." The snarl that formed on her face made him chuckle.

"Just whom exactly are you trying to convince, Miss Granger? I don't think it's me." He settled back into the couch, looking around with a look of curiosity and disdain clear on his face.

"Just what exactly does a witch of your caliber need all of these Muggle contraptions for, anyway?" he questioned, staring blankly at her television settled upon the mantle of her fireplace, before nodding towards the kitchen. He was obviously wondering about the dish washer.

She shrugged in response, still uneasy over the snappiness of the conversation just seconds before, and how quickly he could switch from one placed emotion to the next. It was unnerving to say the least, but she found herself playing along.

"I find a few of their inventions more practical. I rather like my television. It allows me to keep up with their politics. It also holds great entertainment value. Have you ever heard of 'reality television', Tom?" Hermione couldn't help the smug smirk took shape on her lips as his eyes narrowed.

"No, I haven't. It sounds like it's atrocious, though."

"It is," Hermione sighed again, obviously growing tired of the way he was dancing around whatever the reason was for his visit. "What exactly are you here for? I'd like to get some rest tonight, and having you sat in my living room isn't how I planned my night."

His expression changed into an odd, satisfied grin. "Why, I am here for you, Hermione. We have some things to discuss, so I planned to collect you and transport us both to a much more suitable location."

Hermione waved a hand at him angrily, dismissing the thought. "I am not going anywhere with-" before she even finished the sentence, Tom grabbed hold of her arm, and she suddenly felt the pull of side along Apparation, feeling as if she was being sucked through a vacuum.

As they landed, she groaned, half out of annoyance at being taken for side along Apparation without her consent, and half out of the terrible feeling of bile in her throat. Hermione doubled over, coughing insistently, trying to keep herself from getting sick. She glared hard at Riddle through her coughs, who just raised his eyebrows at her, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Are you an idiot? You could have splinched me, you prat!" she spat out between coughs, which only made his smirk grow wider.

_This is going to be a long night_. She thought in irritation before she stood upright, still holding her churning stomach.

It was then that she noticed several people, dozens even, entering the manor in jet black robes, a few turning at the muffled sound of her coughs. She immediately recognized the faces of the Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, each staring at her with blank expressions instead of their usual condescending or disgusted ones, before they each turned back around towards the door of the manor without a second glance.

It was then she realized that 'long night' was likely an understatement.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Conflict and Compromises**

* * *

 

Tom wasn't exactly sure of how to proceed with the evening he had planned for himself and Hermione. There were a few pressing topics that he needed to attend to pertaining their situation, but Hermione was being extremely difficult.  _Shouldn't expect anything less from a Gryffindor_. He thought snidely to himself as he took her by the upper arm and lead her up the cobblestone pathway to the front porch of Riddle Manor.

She tried to yank away from him, but his grip on her arm was firm enough to ensure that she would enter the manor. That's all he needed, and then the fun could begin.

* * *

 

"Let go of me.  _Now._ " Hermione protested as Tom lead her to the double doors of his home in a particularly aggressive manner. She tried to plant her feet into the cobblestone of the walkway, but that didn't go as planned. It made it all the more easy for him to practically drag her along, and he spoke again. "I will momentarily."

Deciding it was useless and that she would like to talk to him about a few things, she stopped fighting him and began walking again herself. She tried again to yank her arm from his hold, but he held on, sending her an annoyed look. They reached the deep, jade double doors, and it suddenly swung open for them. After they stepped through the threshold, the doors shut by themselves, and an iridescent film covered the entry way that Hermione did not notice.

He let go of her arm then, and she found herself rubbing the spot where his hand had been. "I'm not an infant. I can walk by myself, you know." He looked back and smirked at her as he continued down the hall. "Just a precaution. I needed to ensure that we have this talk."

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed. "Did you ever think that maybe if you asked politely - "

"No."

Well. That was the end of that conversation. She grimaced at herself, momentarily surprised by the words that had just left her mouth.  _Why on Earth would he be polite?_  Instead of dwelling on it, she continued to follow him. She remembered her conversation with Dumbledore then, and decided to play along. "Where are we going?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"I am most certain that you will recognize it when we get there." His voice took on a teasing tone, and Hermione found herself getting slightly nervous.

They continued to walk past several doors, turning through several hallways and finally, finally they reached the glass doors that Hermione knew led to the room she'd previously destroyed. He opened the door, gesturing for her to enter before him. She did so with caution, inching into the room and taking in its repaired state.

The black wood, canopied bed was just as immaculate as ever, if not gaudy, given the obvious preference of Slytherin in this household. The dressers on either side of the room were black, adorned with crystal knobs on each drawer. There was a bookshelf adjacent to the door, positioned in the corner of the two walls it sat on. Tom casually extracted  _The Theoretical Properties of Soulmates_  from his black robes, and placed it on the bookshelf.

Allowing her curiosity to get the better of her, Hermione lifted her chin in the direction of the bookshelf. "Why are those books separate from the ones in your study?" she inquired, assuming that they were obviously books that he didn't want anyone else who visited his home to have access to.

Tom turned to her, smiling. "Hermione, I'm sure you can deduce that reasoning on your own. Do you  _really_  think I'm ignorant enough to leave information like this - " he gestured to the bookshelf as he spoke. "Out in the open, for my followers to read? They are here for very specific reasons, and one of those reasons is  _not_  to learn what they're not supposed to."

"So you believe in censorship, even within your own ranks? I didn't peg you as the type to keep dark texts out of the hands of your particularly dark following." Hermione snorted at the thought. Lord Voldemort, an advocate for censorship. She supposed that it actually made sense when she thought about it, considering the contents of  _The Daily Prophet_  when Voldemort was heading the Ministry during the war. But, she didn't quite understand how keeping information on dark curses, rather potent potions and the like from his followers benefited him. Unless he purposely kept talented, but underdeveloped people around him in order to prevent the fall of his own empire.

He chuckled at her assumption, and shook his head slightly. He sat in the cushioned arm chair opposite of her, fingering his Thestral-cored wand as he contemplated his response. He supposed that in order to get something from her, he ought to humor her questions to an extent.

"When you've been in charge of a group of people as long as I have been, Hermione, you learn a few things. You see, when choosing a following and during recruitment, you look for one of two things, but never both. Do you know what those two things are, Hermione?" he questioned, eyes narrowing ever so slightly in anticipation of her answer. Truth be told, he realized early on in watching her that Hermione had all of the makings of a good leader, but it was obvious that she'd never considered it. She was much too diplomatic in the literal sense, instead of giving off the impression of being diplomatic, but not being diplomatic at all. She compromised things that she didn't want to compromise, on the grounds that she couldn't get what she wanted otherwise. He'd learned that about her quickly, especially after the reports he'd been given on her by his contacts at the Ministry.

Hermione was puzzled for a moment, unsure of what he was speaking of. She was rather bossy, it was true, but Hermione always considered other individual's ideas, or at least she'd like to believe she did. She was always willing to give information when she could, when it wasn't restricted due to her job, or due to an Unbreakable Vow that she'd taken with a certain Dark Lord, but she considered herself to be a fan of democracy, even amongst her circle of friends and within the Order. She recognized the usefulness of an organized leader, of course, but she'd also seen first hand how not listening to other perspectives ruined an otherwise impenetrable plan. She continued to stay silent, and Tom took her silence for ignorance, so he continued.

"You seek individuals with magical talent or above-average intelligence, never both. I'm sure you can point out followers of mine who are extremely magically gifted, and others who are intelligent with average or slightly above average magical skills that are enhanced by their acceptance of the Dark Arts, but never both. I made that mistake once, and I made that follower my right hand. That follower ended up being my downfall, as he was spying on me all along."

_Snape_. Her mind caught on quickly, although she wasn't sure that any of his other followers could ever be called a spy. After a moment, Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion.  _He_   _killed Snape because of the Elder Wand's allegiance. He never knew that Snape was a spy, so how…_  Hermione looked up at him. "When did you - "

Tom waved the notion away, chuckling quietly. "Ah, I see," his tone was slightly condescending, and Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "There are very few things that go on within my ranks that I remain unaware of. Severus offered me an opportunity to see into the mind of one Albus Dumbledore, and he gave me information regarding specific Order missions, missions that he was unable to withhold the details of. But, Severus  _did_  end up outwitting me in certain, highly sensitive situations in which my attention was elsewhere for too long. But no matter," the sly grin that stretched across his face was slightly unnerving, and Hermione felt herself shiver, the source of her physical reaction unknown. "What's the Muggle saying? Hindsight is - " he searched for the correct phrasing, but came up short. He looked pointedly at Hermione.

"Twenty-twenty." Hermione finished, becoming slightly bored at the topic of conversation. Until she realized something.

Voldemort - Tom, was much too naturally prideful to willingly give up such information.  _Is the bond already taking effect?_  She wondered, a small smirk gracing her lips. She was hardly the most humble person to ever exist, but she was  _certainly_  much more humble than him. And, although she could see that he didn't hate muggles as much as he did previously, he certainly wouldn't be using muggle phrasing on his own, consciously.

But then another realization dawned on her, and the smirk was wiped away, unlikely to be seen again anytime soon. She was already exhibiting some of his traits. She'd just finished berating him about censorship, priding herself on her sense of democracy, when in reality, she'd censored Harry and Ginny's memories. She'd stolen someone else's memories - changed them, really, in order to prevent them from retaining information that may end up being severely inconvenient for her. In order to protect  _him_.

_No_. She thought, a mild disgust coursing throughout her body.  _I did it to protect them. Not him_. She shook her head ever so slightly, all the while reminding herself that Dumbledore  _did_  advise her to go through with it. He wasn't affecting her. No.  _Not_   _yet_. A small voice in the back of her mind told her, but she conveniently ignored it. She thanked Merlin that he broke her train of thought, presumably moving on to a topic other than the one her mind was currently trained upon.

Until she had yet another realization, this realization being that - that,

"Are you aware of it, Hermione?" His eyes were narrowed as he surveyed her slightly disheveled state, almost as if he was reading her mind. He  _was_  a very accomplished Legilimens, but she, as a well trained Occlumens, would have at least felt him probing at her mind.

Hermione froze at his words, slowly looking directly into his deep, forest green orbs. "Aware of what, Tom?" she questioned, her voice quivering ever so slightly, but she was almost positive that he, the very definition of a human lie detector, would notice.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands balled into loose fists that he rested his chin upon. A smirk slowly formed upon his lips, and a hint of amusement flashed in his dark green eyes. Suddenly, he stood up. He walked over to the lone bookshelf of the room, and picked a book from the shelf. He wasn't facing her, so Hermione was unable to see which book it was, but she had an eerie feeling that he was about to make a point that she didn't particularly care to hear at the moment. She heard the tattered book slap open in the crook of his left arm, the soft crinkle of parchment as he continuously turned the pages.

"Chapter seventeen, page five hundred and sixty three - "

The pores on her skin opened, the hair on her arms stood up. She looked down at her hands, her hands that were racking in slight tremors. She shivered again, the velvet, indescribably silky sound of his voice, the voice that softly muttered the incantation of the Unforgivables so easily, destroying the lives of so many that she loved, affected her in more ways than she'd care to admit. Too many.

She knew what that chapter was about. He continued.

"Ah, where is it? Let's see… Ah! Right here," His tone was teasing, but there was a serious, somewhat threatening air to it that Hermione thought she might be imagining.

" _Once Inaversibilis Mates meet in preferred form, subtle changes will begin to occur within each individual. These changes will affect personality traits, magical affiliations, amongst other things with time. These changes are a direct effect of the individual's mate, and are, often times, unavoidable, unless the individual is aware of the subtle change and actively fights against it. For instance, if one mate is particularly prone to anxiousness, the other mate may begin to feel anxious although it is not a natural part of their personality or character. In addition - "_

"If you're quite done, I've had enough of these foolish games of yours!" Hermione stood up with a start, receiving nothing but an amused, raised eyebrow from Tom in return. "I'm leaving!" she all but yelled, bursting through the double doors with her wand in hand. How could she be so stupid as to sit in a room with the Dark Lord, thinking he wouldn't at least attempt to taunt her into anger? What kind of sick satisfaction was that, thinking something that made someone else, your soulmate, so particularly uncomfortable that -

Hermione reached the dark wood double doors that led outside, and the doors opened for her. In her anger, she failed to notice the very slight iridescent film that engulfed the archway, until it knocked her back when she attempted to cross the threshold. "What in the - " She started to say, and then huffed in frustration when she realized that  _this_  was why he'd been so adamant that he made her enter the manor. So he could trap her here for Merlin knows how long with Merlin know what spell. A white hot rage began to build up inside of her, and her breaths became much too quick and much too heavy. She swirled around on her heel, intent on making her way back into that room and hexing Tom to the depths of whatever fiery pit of hell he belonged in.

Fortunately for her, she didn't have to walk, or more correctly, stomp her way back, because he'd followed her.

She turned around, and was less than a foot away from him. He had a devastatingly amused smile on his face, and she was quite tired of his amusement that came at her expense.

"Oh, Hermione, Hermione," he chuckled, eyes drifting past her for a moment to inspect his spell before looking back at her. "When are you going to learn?"

"Learn what, Tom?" she spoke quietly through gritted teeth, trying to control herself. She could feel the warmth building in her chest again, the warmth that allowed her to draw upon their combined magic when their intent was similar or when they were physically close to each other, but she willed it back down. She didn't need his magic. She was fine on her own. "What could I  _possibly_  learn from you, the person who has single handedly ruined everything that was  _good_  about my life, about the world?!" she was yelling now, and she felt her magic pulsating through her body, through her veins, down to her bones, ready to defend her and bend to her will.  _Her_  magic. Not  _his_  magic, or  _their_  magic. Just her own.

"That I am always in control, whether you believe I am or not. I am always - "

" _Enough_!" she shouted, and she began flinging curses at him so quickly that he barely had time to defend himself. He threw up a shield, any and all amusement drained from his features, replaced with a cool resolve.

" _Confrigo_!  _Expulso_!  _Reducto_!" Hermione fired curse after curse at him, none breaking through his shield, making her all the more angry. "You bloody git!  _Sectumsempra_!" Tom's calm, cool resolve was not broken by her attempts to harm him or her insults, and instead of retaliating, his shield fell.

Hermione began to mutter the incantation for a disarming spell, but as she raised her wand, her muscles began to cramp severely. She groaned in pain, dropping to her knees, trying to move  _something_  voluntarily,  _anything_ , her fingers, her toes, her eyes,  _something_. But her muscles were so cramped that she was unable to move anything. Then, then it felt as if fire coursed through her veins, replacing the blood that pumped to her heart. Slowly, the flames engulfed every vein, every artery, until they reached her heart, and her heart began pounding quicker than ever. She broke out in a sweat, breathing heavily as Tom watched, a barely-there sneer on his face as he raised his wand and shut the double doors behind her, letting the curse run its course.

Hermione's head began to pound with a vengeance, pulsating pain making it feel as if her brain may implode. Her skin began to hurt as if she had been stung by a million fire ants at once, and suddenly, suddenly she couldn't take the pain anymore. A desperate groan escaped her open mouth, and she crumbled to the floor, unable to move. It felt like an eternity before it was over, and she was cringing on the hardwood floor, blood seeping from her nose.

She was finally able to move again, and she rolled onto her back, staring up at the enchanted ceiling. She closed her eyes - momentarily forgetting just  _where_  she was, who she was with, whom she was bound to, and she found herself extremely thankful that the pain was gone.

But then she remembered who was standing a few feet away. And then she realized that it had to have been him. "What in the bloody  _hell_  did you do to me?" she managed, breaths still coming out heavily as she spoke. She heard the clack of dragon hid shoes making contact with the wooden floors, and she continued to stare up at the ceiling as she inwardly accepted her fate.  _I'm going to die._  She thought. _He's going to kill me, he's going to have someone kill me -_

She was aware of his presence beside her then, realizing that he had knelt down to the floor beside her, and was staring directly into her eyes again. She closed her eyes, not wanting to give anything away _, he deserves nothing_.

"I didn't do anything to you, Ms. Granger. I simply protected myself with a shield charm. But I would like to thank you, so I shall.  _Thank_   _you_ , Ms. Granger, for demonstrating just how painful it is to attempt to inflict harm upon your mate."

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she stared directly back at him.  _She_  did this? No, no.  _She_  didn't do anything -  _Fate_  did this. She sighed loudly, placing the palms of her hands flat against the floor, trying to push herself upward. She was unsuccessful and suddenly very aware of how pitiful she must look, must've looked, for a second time within these manor walls.

Beside her, Tom huffed in irritation and stood. He leaned down, grabbing hold of her underneath her arm, and hoisted her up. "You shouldn't try to force people to stay in your home, you know. It's considered rude." Hermione informed him as she shook her arm out of his grasp, leaning against the wall to her right, still trying to catch her breath.

Curiously, she began to examine her body, the areas of exposed skin, to see if any damage - aside from psychological, was done. She frowned slightly when she realized that no, no harm had actually come to her. It had all been in her head. "You shouldn't try to run away knowing that there are much more important matters at hand than your ego. You're acting like an insolent child." He sneered, and with that, he turned and walked back towards the room that they'd both came from.

Hermione pushed herself off of the wall she was leaning upon with an ungraceful grunt. She wasn't particularly concerned with how pitiful she looked now.  _Continuing to act like this will get me nowhere with him_. She thought absently as she stalked after him, towards the room where she'd been thoroughly embarrassed twice now.  _I might as well act the part, let him think he has the upper hand from now on. Let him think that this taught me some sort of lesson._

And with that, Hermione Granger had a new resolve. She was done feeling sorry for herself. There was nothing she could do to change the cruel existence that Fate had deigned upon her, so, she became strengthened in her resolve to embrace it,  _embrace_   _the_   _mess_ , because she had a job to do. A job that was much, much more important than allowing her - damn it, she hated to admit that he was right about this, but, allowing her ego to overtake her. Not listening to things that she did not want to hear, but needed to here. No, she'd let herself wallow in pity long enough.

No. She was Hermione Granger. And she was strengthened in her resolve to use this peculiar situation to her advantage, in any and every way she could. She could help the Order, somehow, even though she was forbidden from revealing his identity. She could learn, because regardless of how evil he was, Tom Riddle, ne Lord Voldemort, was still one of the most brilliant wizards of all time. She could push herself - yes, and she could  _pretend_  to leave bravery behind, because that was the smart move. That was the logical move.

And as she entered the Dark Lord's private chambers once more, ignoring the knowing smirk on his face as he sat down in the armchair across from the one she'd occupied just ten minutes prior, she knew. She knew, that if nothing else, he was right about one thing. She was the brains of the Golden Trio. And she was the reason that they were able to bring him down in the first place. This time, she'd be acting alone for the most part, but she knew she could do it. _I can do this._

As they sat in silence for several minutes, she wiped the blood from her nose with the sleeve of her sweater, casting a quick  _Scourgify_  on her clothing and on herself, she inwardly gave herself a renewed lesson on the manipulation tactics of the man sitting across from her, and decided to use them to her advantage.  _Half truths work best. That's what Snape told me during my Occlumency training._  Harry had told her one night when they were alone in that dreadful tent in the middle of the forest, mulling over lessons he'd learnt from Snape in order to prepare Hermione in the event that she'd be captured. And she was. She had the scar from Bellatrix Lestrange to prove it.

When she looked up again, she noticed that Tom was staring at her with some unplaced, barely there emotion, but it was still there.

"I - Look. This isn't easy for me to grasp, I'm sure that even your demented mind can understand that,"  _Half_   _truths_.  _Play the part, but be yourself._  She was defiant by nature, and the cat-mouse game that invoked in him gave her some sense of control. A flicker of exasperation crossed his features at being called something other than what he wanted to be called, but Tom caught himself and smirked in amusement.

He hoped she hadn't caught that.

But she did.

_Cat_ - _mouse_.

"You're my enemy. You've been my enemy since my first year at Hogwarts. You stand for everything I stand against, and unlike Dumbledore and Grindelwald, I didn't meet you before you - well, before you went insane," she made a wild gesture with her hands to demonstrate his insanity, and his smirk turned into a thin line, as did his brows, aside from the impeccable, perfect arch.

"But, I am not one who considers knowingly harming myself to be an outlet for solution, unlike you - "

_Cat-mouse._

"What, with all of the soul splitting and such - I'm sure you understand - "

"The point, Granger." His voice took on a dangerous undertone, and Hermione inwardly smirked in victory of whittling down the immensely small amount of patience the man before her had for being insulted.

"Right. Well, I am willing to come to some sort of… agreement about our predicament. And I won't attempt harm on you again."

His body language changed with this, becoming relaxed in a very minuet way, but, being in the perceptive state that she was, Hermione was able to decipher it. She watched as he mulled over this information, and as the realization that he was getting what he wanted washed over him, surprise overcame his features.

* * *

 

He wasn't stupid.  _Surely_  the girl didn't think he was  _that_  much of a fool to not understand what she was doing, what kind of dangerous game she was getting herself into.  _Silly_   _girl_ , he couldn't help the thought that came to him as she spoke.

_Cat-mouse._

The idea came to him quickly, and he acted on it. Tom would allow her to think that she had the upper hand, that he was somehow idiotic enough to actually be surprised at her confession, _as if_  he hadn't orchestrated the entire thing. He'd known this. He'd know that he would push buttons, specifically the ones pertaining to their situation, and that he'd play on her continued disbelief that  _she_ , Hermione Granger, could ever be confined to a life - a soulmate that had single handedly destroyed the lives of those she loved the most. He'd known she'd get angry, one way or another, and try to leave. He'd known that the pent up emotion, resentment in particular - would be too much for her to handle, and her carefully calculated, organized mind would momentarily forget that she'd experience some form of pain; the Fate designed punishment for attempting to bring harm on your mate out of mal intent. So he allowed false surprise to overcome his face, instead of the smug smirk at things going  _exactly_  his way that he wanted to express, just to let her think she was getting what she wanted. It needed to last just long enough -  _just_  long enough to get her to agree to a few things,

But it was in his nature to be in control, and so, naturally, he had to express  _some_  sort of distaste for her lapse in judgement. Regardless of whether she was playing right into his hand or not, she was his soulmate, and  _his_  soulmate shouldn't be so overcome by emotion that she forgets the basic rules of being half of an Inaversibilis pair.

"I believe the time has come for us to discuss the best course of action regarding our predicament." Tom started, his voice laced with a careful calculation that Hermione did not quite understand. "But I want to make something clear. Although your tendency to dramatic antics has been quite comical to me at times, we haven't got the time for it. You are no longer a school-girl, so stop acting like it. Fortunately for you, as every day passes, my memories of my life as Voldemort become more and more blurred, and I become all the more prone to human tendencies and emotions, especially given the corporeal form I have been given," he stopped to sweep a hand over himself in a demonstrating manner, "but I do hope that you have enough of a sense of self preservation to understand that my patience is limited, and I will not continue to tolerate these tantrums. Now," he clasped his hands together.

_Half truths. Cat-mouse._

"We've much to discuss. I suggest that you reside here, in my manor, and that we wed as soon as possible. In order to prevent suspicion, you've had a whirlwind romance that you haven't had the time to talk about with friends and family."

Hermione considered this for a moment before speaking. "I understand the logic behind living here, but I don't quite understand why we must wed. The book doesn't say anything about - "

"Hermione, I was born in the 20s and I do retain some forms of old-fashioned tendencies. Humor me. You will have access to some of my personal possessions, though I will expect you to play the part of my wife relatively well in public."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times before she actually spoke. _Old fashioned in the sense of marrying before cohabiting, but you've no problem with torturing and murdering women and children to get what you want._  Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes at the notion.

"Fine. But there will be no huge ceremony, only us and the officiant. I don't have to work tomorrow, but the Ministry's main offices remain open throughout the weekend, so we can be wed tomorrow." She held her breath in anticipation of his response, considering his 'old fashioned tendencies' and dreading the idea of a Death Eater filled guest list with one Lucius Malfoy officiating a wedding between herself and the Dark Lord.

A very dreary image of her actually dancing with Voldemort, to later be passed off and expected to dance with the groomsmen, no doubt including several individuals that she hated with her very being -

"Very well." Tom conceded to the idea. He didn't give a rat's ass about being old fashioned, but he'd let her believe that little lie. He  _did_  want them to wed as soon as possible, though, in order to move forward with his plans and to permanently enact the bond between them, and he  _did_  want her to reside in the manor, in order to strengthen the bond that being soulmates formed, along with any feelings, positive feelings he could manage to elicit in Hermione at some point. And, on the contrary to what he'd told her before, he didn't actually want her to quit her job at the Ministry. But letting her believe those things was working to his advantage, so he decided to mention it again.

"What about your job at the Ministry? You could travel with me, I'm sure there are numerous magical cities and sights that you'd be interested in - "

"No." Hermione asserted confidently, this time literally rolling her eyes.  _What is with his obsession over me quitting my job? Is he trying to separate me from my friends, as if they'd be inclined to do something in the first place, since they have no idea who he is?_  "I'm not quitting my job. That's a very, uh, generous - albeit unexpected offer, but I love my job at the Ministry. No. I'm not leaving my job."

Tom sighed as if conceding defeat, rolling his eyes as he crossed his right leg over his left knee, balancing his right elbow on his leg. He rested his chin on his hand, staring at Hermione with emotionless eyes. "Very well, keep your job defending Muggles who would not wish for a witch to defend them if they were aware of the fact that you are a witch, a rather famous one at that." He waved his free hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair. "It's an enormous waste of your time."

Hermione ignored his petty jabs and stood. "The Ministry operates on normal hours. I will see you at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. Now, may I take my leave?"

Tom stood as well, a bit surprised at the notion that Hermione thought she could leave. "And wherever would the bride to be head off to? You're not planning to run away from me, are you?"

Hermione crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "If you're  _that_  old fashioned, you'd realize that it's - bad luck and all that, for us to reside together the night before the wedding."

_Bloody traditions!_  He thought, irritated at the inconsistency that he normally wouldn't overlook.

_Cat-mouse._

_Half-truths_.

"I would apologize but I'm not particularly sorry for the fact that I do not trust you to be there, Ms. Granger, and I believe it would be best if we arrived together, given the informality of the union in general."

Hermione continued to move towards the door, and Tom felt the small amount of patience he had left getting thinner and thinner by the second. "I guess you really  _don't_  understand love, or any of the concept surrounding it, such as marriage." A bleak laugh escaped her lips, and she smiled. "In order to have a successful marriage, trust must be built. Do you think I will trust  _you_  if you keep me captive here for the night, against my will?"

Tom was closer to her now, and Hermione found herself becoming anxious. What for, she wasn't sure, but he was only a couple of feet away now, and continued taking small steps until he was only a few inches away. He looked down at her, a thick brow raised knowingly. "I believe one of the basic rules that I've implored you not to forget overrides tradition in this case, dear. Do I need to refresh your memory, or can you recall this one on your own this time?" His voice was soft, taunting.

Hermione wanted to slap herself out of embarrassment of forgetting yet  _another_  basic rule of her predicament. This was completely unlike her. What in the  _bloody hell_  was he doing to her?

"Ah," she acknowledged. "Not leaving your mate without necessity."

"There's the brains of the Golden Trio." Tom remarked, a smirk playing on his full lips. The anxiousness in the deepest part of her abdomen grew as she watched his handsome, sculpture like features morph into a playful expression, and she inwardly scolded herself in disgust.  _I can't think of him like that._  She thought _. Not now, hopefully, not ever._

"Don't look so disgusted. I'm not exactly repulsive anymore."

"Well, maybe not in physical terms, but you've - "

"Save it, Granger. You're attracted to me. The flush of your cheeks tells on your lie."

At this, whatever blush adorned her cheeks likely enhanced in color, and Hermione was, for once, speechless. "Prat." She muttered, unable to come up with a decent response.

Tentatively, he reached a hand up to sweep stray hairs away from her forehead. The contact sent a jolt of that all too familiar anxiousness down to her core, and she was suddenly wishing that he wasn't touching her, or that he would touch her more. She wasn't sure.

One of her wishes came true when his hand rested on her cheek, the warmth of it radiating onto her skin. He leaned in, and real fear engulfed her.  _Don't_.  _Don't_. She prayed to whatever deity would listen that he  _wouldn't_. That the tension that was already there, that she didn't realize was there before - that the tension wouldn't burst.

He didn't.

_Cat-mouse._

Instead, he leaned in close to her ear opposite of the cheek he was gently touching, his voice barely above that of a whisper as he did so. "One of the other, more interesting and possibly harmless attributes - depending on how you look at it, of having an Inaversibilis mate, is the enhanced reaction to physical contact." His other hand dropped to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him, flush against his long, lean body.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and a different, much more foreign kind of heat began to build in her chest, burning her lungs with a want, no, a  _need_  she couldn't place.

"We could enjoy this," he applied more pressure to the small of her back, forest green eyes boring into caramel brown as he encouraged her to lean into him, his body heat seemingly engulfing every censor in body. It was a positively dizzying effect, she realized, and she found herself leaning in as their magic circled together in the areas that they were touching each other. Her cheeks felt hot, and so did the small of her back. Unusually warm. Her front, which was pressed up against his, felt like it was  _scalding_. "If you allow it. I will not force myself on you, but I will encourage this. One of the amazing things about having this body again is, well, bluntly put, the urges. And every time I see you, Ms. Granger, I am reminded of the simplistic needs of a twenty one year old body."

Hermione couldn't find her voice, and she was kind of grateful for that fact. She wasn't sure if she would tell him to stop - the logical part of her brain would, but the portion of her brain dominated by primitive urges, and the portion of her brain that responded to her magic, screamed for  _more_.

_Touch me, touch -_

He let go just as suddenly as he'd touched her, and she became hyper aware of the absence of his touch. He turned away from her, walking purposefully to one of the dressers on either side of the bed. "There's a spare room to the left of this one. Make yourself comfortable, there is a house-elf by the name of Frein that will acquire whatever it is that you need." He pulled out a white cotton t-shirt and a few other items that she couldn't see, but she wasn't exactly paying attention. She was watching his movements, wishing that instead, they were in syncs with her own in a different, much more specific way.

She felt  _entranced_. This was  _dangerous_.

_Cat-mouse._

She abruptly realized how out of control she felt, and nodded once, unsure of if he'd noticed because he was turned away from her. "Right. Good - goodnight, Tom."

He glanced at her briefly, almost dismissively, with a barely audible, "Goodnight Hermione".

She left the room then, vaguely remember his directions to the spare room. She imagined that there were several spare rooms within the manor, but this was likely the closest to his private room. She walked a short distance to a deep mahogany colored door, opening it with little hesitation. The room was relatively small, compared to the others she'd seen, but it was nice. Comfortable. There was a queen bed in the right corner of the room, a simple, white duvet and two silk, silver pillows atop of it.

Suddenly overcome by the overwhelming events of her day, Hermione became unaware - uninterested in the other furniture of the room. She quietly left to the bathroom, conveniently positioned on the opposite wall of the bed to undress, down to the t-shirt that was underneath her sweater and her undergarments.

She quickly warded her door, though she was sure Tom could get through if he wanted to. It was his home, after all, and she imagined that there were modifications made specific to him. She was mainly ensuring that no Death Eater would enter her room, and if they did somehow manage to get through her wards, they'd be sliced up into bits by a modified  _Sectumsempra_  curse activated by any unwelcome intruders.

Hermione waved her wand over her t-shirt tiredly, altering the length to be appropriate for a regular nightgown, before climbing into the strangely comfortable bed, drifting off into a particularly dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

In the room next to Hermione's, Tom Riddle was contemplating his numerous triumphs of the day as he showered. He ran soap through his hair, a small smile working its way onto his lips.

She'd Oblivated her troublesome friends today. She'd fallen for his careful laid trap today. She'd compromised on something she didn't want to compromise on today. She was playing right into his plan, yet again.

She believed she had the upperhand, but he knew better. He also happened to be right in his lucky guess that, in her panic over being his soulmate, she neglected to read the other portions of the book. The portions that explain physical contact enhancement. Or the portion that he initially overlooked, detailing how memories could end up slightly altered when one takes on the traits of their mate, even if they actively fight against that trait. Something that may have been traumatic to his mate would become unclear, and he assumed that that included personas.

Slowly, Voldemort was fading into the background, and Tom Riddle was surfacing.

_No matter._  He thought. Voldemort, his past self, was, as much as he hated to admit it and would never admit it to anyone other than himself - his past self was utterly  _mad_.

He didn't need to rely on those instincts - instincts that he'd already possessed as Tom Riddle, but had become hyper sensitive the more and more he split his soul, for guidance in this situation.

Tom Riddle was certainly intelligent enough, talented enough, cunning enough to do so himself. He would, and with the following that he'd had as Voldemort, combined with the wit Tom Riddle possessed, he would be unstoppable.  _All in good time_. He thought, rubbing the soap on his scalp and letting the shower water run through his hair, washing the soap away.

Tom Riddle was patient, where Voldemort was much more antsy, too quick to act, in his plans. He remembered that.

But ever since she'd pulled that stunt when he'd initially made contact with her, here, in this very room - the persona of Voldemort was fading away at an alarmingly quick rate. The memories were becoming hazy, similar to a dream. Major events remained unchanged, but his attitude, his  _feelings_ , towards those events, were changing. He, Tom Riddle, could not believe that he'd slipped so far into delusions that he'd attempted to murder a baby. A  _baby_. He wasn't sentimental in the least, but he wasn't  _that_  crazy. He retained his disdain for Potter, on the grounds that he had been outsmarted by a group of  _children_  as a seventy-something year old adult.  _Consistently_  outsmarted.

And because of that disdain for Potter, his need for some sort of revenge prevailed. Of course, that was not his only goal with his plans. His intentions remained similar, power. But, he could not let it consume him to such a degree that he would go mad for it. Not this time.

No. Instead, the world would go mad for  _him_ , and Hermione would help him, unknowingly. Having a well established Ministry official, proclaimed hero for a wife would benefit him in more ways than one, but she didn't know that. She didn't need to know that.

Fate was giving him a second chance, and he certainly wouldn't waste it. Not as he did before, consumed by power and vengeance. Vengeance was a bonus.

But, how sweet it would be when the time finally came. As Tom left the shower, dried himself and dressed, he laid atop his bed, contemplating just how well the day had gone, yet again.

The vanity of it washed over him, and she would be just as fooled in the coming days as she had been the today. And it would be glorious.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: An Unconventional Marriage**

Hermione woke with a bit of a soreness, eagerly stretching her muscles after a night of what she considered to be good rest. She laid there for a few more moments with her eyes closed, right hand on the hilt of her wand that was hidden underneath her pillow. It was Sunday - and Sunday's were specifically designed for relaxation in her house. Of course, her version of relaxation likely differed from most, being that she read and read and read all day as relaxation rather than sleeping in to an ungodly hour or spending time with friends or family. So, she decided that she'd lay there for just a few more minutes, until -

"Missus?"

Hermione rolled onto her side, sleep filled eyes open widely, wand pointed directly at the source of the disturbance.

A house elf.

A house elf who was now whimpering and begging her not to tell Master that Frein had upset her.

_House elf? Where… oh._  She lowered her wand, a wash of guilt overcoming her. She sat up and rubbed sleep from her eyes before she was able to get a good look at the elf in question. The elf was relatively small, and seemed to be quite young for an elf. The elf sniffled softly, looking up at her with large, beady eyes. "Missus, please don't tell Master that Frein upset her Missus! Frein didn't mean to upset her Missus!" Frein looked down again, clutching a dirty rag with both hands in fear.

"Frein, I apologize. I'm not used to being woken up by others. Don't worry, I won't tell him, but you haven't upset me." Hermione gave the elf her best smile, but the elf was still highly upset.

"No Missus, Frein deserves to be punished. Frein upset her Missus." Frein looked sad at this revelation, and began to walk towards a wall. Remembering other elves tendency of 'disciplining' themselves, Hermione jumped to her feet. "No!" she cried, a hand outstretched towards Frein. Frein turned and looked curiously as Hermione's hand. "Don't - you didn't do anything wrong, Frein. Now, can you give me the time?"

Frein inched her way back towards Hermione. "It's half past 7 o'clock, Missus."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Half past - blast it! Frein, could you maybe bring me a cup of tea? I would really appreciate it."

Frein's eyes widened at the prospect of doing something to please Missus. "I will! Frein brings Missus a cups of tea!" she keened happily, and disappeared to retrieve the tea.

Hermione sighed with relief, happy that her distraction had been enough to keep Frein from punishing herself. She knew that elves who reacted this way were likely mistreated, not that having another being as your slave could be in anything other than that.

"Right, erh - " Hermione looked down at herself, still dressed in just her t-shirt. She considered transfiguring her sleepwear, but knew that it wouldn't look the way she wanted it to. She knew she didn't have time to return to her flat to change, so she searched the drawers in the dresser for something suitable, or at least something that could be transfigured into something that would appease the groom to be.

She open the closet, and found a lone white garment bag with a note on it.

_Hermione,_

_I instructed Narcissa Malfoy to find something suitable for you to wear today. She estimated your measurements, but I expect that you are sufficient enough in your magic that you will be able to make any necessary modifications._

_Tom._

Hermione's lip quirked upward, a giggle escaping her. Tom Riddle, sending Narcissa Malfoy out in the early hours to find appropriate wedding attire for her, a Muggleborn.

She opened the garment bag to find a white, knee length dress, fitting like a bodysuit from the waist up with off the shoulder sleeves, a lace embroidery swirling around it.

Satisfied with her attire, Hermione headed into the bathroom to change. She looked at herself in the mirror framed with silver, and didn't have much hope for her frizzy, disheveled hair. "Uh," she muttered, trying desperately to remember some sort of smoothing charm - something Parvati or Lavender had used on her hair - yes - how did the spell go again?

" _Smootalicus_." She muttered, and her hair quickly became compliant, frizz free and more wavy than curly. Thank Merlin. She thought, not normally caring about her appearance to this length, but doing so today because of the occasion along with the fact that her photo was likely to appear in  _The Daily Prophet_  soon enough.

She transfigured her black flats into white flats, fixed with gold adornments on the hem.

She exited the bathroom, only to be greeting by Frein, holding a cup of tea on a saucer plate, looking nervous as could be.

"Frein is sorry Frein took so longs, Missus. Master called me, and has asked me to tells Missus that he's waiting for Missus in the foyers."

Hermione offered a small smile to Frein. Poor thing, she'd have to convince him to free her once they married and his house elf became hers by bond. Of course, she wasn't much help when it came to housework and cooking, but doing it herself or actually hiring someone to do it was a much better idea than keeping a slave around. No, she'd see to it that Frein was freed.

"It's no trouble at all, Frein. Thank you." Hermione grabbed the small teacup from Frein, cautiously sniffing the contents for any suspicious potions Tom might've instructed Frein to use. Though she didn't think the elf would intentionally harm her, Tom was very persuasive, and he tended to be even more intimidating when he was able to torture whomever he wanted something from in order to get it. She had no doubt that Frein had been on the opposite side of Tom's wand at some point, probably several, and as such, if Tom had instructed her to lace the potion, she couldn't necessarily blame the elf for doing so. Deciding it was safe, Hermione took a long sip, and put the cup on top of the night stand beside the bed. "It's lovely, Frein. But, please, call me Hermione. I am not your Missus." Not yet. That small voice reminded her once more, and she would in fact be the mistress of this manor in a few short hours, but she tried not to dwell on that. Even so, she didn't want Frein calling her Missus.

Frein's wide eyes widened even more at the prospect of calling Hermione by her name, and the elf began to shake. The tea on the tray she was carrying began to slosh out of the cup from the tremors.

Hermione stood in horror for a moment, realizing that this poor elf was scared to call her by her first name.

"Frein would  _never_ , Missus. Master would - he would - Frein must call hers Missus. Master says so."

"Frein, call me what you must to appease him, but I am your friend, do you understand?"

Frein gave her a small smile, wiping the tears that had formed in her large beady eyes away and nodding once. "Missus is Frein's friend. Frein knows what friends are, but Frein's never had one of those before!"

Hermione couldn't help but smile back at the small elf, clad in a cotton pillowcase with holes cut out for her arms and head.

"Missus?" Frein said, breaking Hermione out of her staring.

"Yes, Frein?"

"Master is waiting for Missus in the foyers. Missus mustn't keep Master waiting. Master doesn't like waiting." Frein's ears lowered at this, and her face drooped. Suddenly, Frein seemed to remember that she was speaking to her Master's soon-to-be wife, and shuddered again. "Missus, please don't tell hims I said that!"

Hermione chuckled, and nodded once. "Your secret is safe with me, Frein. He's an impatient man, and we mustn't keep him waiting too long, right?"

Frein nodded, placing the tray on the nightstand beside the bed. "Missus, take my hand please." She instructed, and Hermione did so. With a snap of Frein's fingers, they were in the foyer, and she was face to face with an irritated, but immaculate looking Tom. He was wearing black dress robes with green embellishment, the robes similar to that of a muggle tux. He gave her a quick once over, nodding once in approval of her appearance. Hermione said nothing.

"It's five minutes to eight. We must hurry. Frein, be sure to have the rooms tidied up before we get back." He looked pointedly at the house elf, who shrinked under his intimidating gaze.

"Of course, Master. Frein is right on it." And with another snap of her fingers, Frein was gone.

Hermione looked at Tom now, pausing as the doors to the manor opened for the pair of them.

"Intimidation and presumably torture isn't the way to treat a house-elf."

An uncharacteristic snort ripped itself from Tom's mouth, his upper lip curled up.

"Don't waste my time with such talk. I am well aware of your house-elf initiative. Preposterous."

They descended the stairs, and Hermione found herself wondering where the Death Eaters she'd seen enter the manor were. Probably on one of the other floors of the manor, but the fact that she'd slept soundly in a home full of people who'd love to see her dead made her shudder. She said nothing to rebuttal his response on house-elves, deciding that that was a battle she'd fight at a different time.

Once they'd reached the end of the property, Tom took her arm, looking at her once to ensure that she was ready to Apparate. She nodded once, and they disappeared into the morning, a swirling, combined distortion of their forms visible for just a second as they did so.

* * *

 

They appeared in front of the Ministry, whose doors would be opening any minute now. They stood, arm in arm for a few moments, before Hermione heard the familiar "click" of the doors, indicated that they were now unlocked and that the Ministry was open to the public. Tom wordlessly let go of her arm, moving to open the door for her.

Hermione resisted a snort.  _So very chivalrous. Who does he think he's fooling?_  Her nostrils flared at the thought as she stepped through the threshold, and unsheathed her wand to allow it to be inspected. She smiled at the guards, who greeted her warmly.

Then it dawned on her that Tom had the Elder Wand, and that if by chance, someone who'd known what had happened to it were there -

Tom unsheathed a wand, approximately 10 ½ inches long, a dark, oak looking wood that she couldn't quite place from this distance. A spare, she presumed. Ah. Well at least he wasn't arrogant enough to assume that he could get through a security check with that wand, the Elder Wand. They finished the security check, and began walking together towards the Family Relations office.

"Granger!" She heard the familiar voice and blanched, unwilling to acknowledge her co-worker at the moment. But, Helen was persistent, and as such, she ended up jogging to catch up with them, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Ignoring me now that you've found a bloke that'll talk to you, Granger?" Her friend teased, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder as she walked beside the pair of them, and they slowed to a stop.

"Helen - " Hermione began, but Tom interrupted her.

"Oh, so  _this_  is the Helen I've heard so much about. Good things, don't worry." The lie rolled off of his tongue, his wicked smile as beautiful as it was charming, and he placed one hand above his hip as he offered the other for a handshake. "Tom," he said. "Tom Riddle, Hermione's fiance."

Helen's face changed from an expression of teasing amusement to shock, and then to a version of lust that she was trying too terribly hard to hide. "Helen," she said, eyeing Hermione through a thick wall of honey blonde hair. "Helen Conlie. I'm Hermione's favorite coworker, the only one of us brave enough to pull the proverbial stick out of her ass every once in awhile." Helen winked at Hermione, and Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot.

"Helen - " she said quietly through gritted teeth, but it was drowned out by Tom's liquid gold laughter.

"How delightful. Pleasure to meet you, but we must be on our way. We're making it official today."

Helen looked at Hermione again at this, and raised a thin blonde brow. "So you're getting hitched, huh, Granger? Funny how we've never heard a peep about this." She crossed her arms and looked expectantly at Hermione, who sighed.

"Helen, you know that I like to keep my work life and my private life private."

"Is that why you haven't been wearing a ring to work?" she inquired, obviously having quite a bit of fun with it. Her left hand, which had been enclosed beneath Tom's right arm, suddenly felt different. She was sure that he'd conjured some sort of ring, some sort of proof to -

He lifted her left hand, revealing an absolutely simple, but stunning, engagement ring. The band was a thin, made of white gold. The diamond was of a brilliant cut, allowing for the most wondrous sparkle. Helen's eyes grew wide, and she gave off the impression that she was impressed. "Do you have a brother?" she joked, sounding just like Jesiva and Maria.

"She doesn't like to wear it at work. She'd just be horrified if she lost it, isn't that right, dear?" He looked at Hermione with a wide smile on his face, and the smile just looked so - so  _unnatural_  on his face, likely because it  _was_ , but she hoped it wasn't as obvious to others as it was to her. There was a hint of expectation in his eyes, and she remembered what he'd said to her last night, about acting like his wife in public.

"Yes. You see, my mother lost her first ring at work, went right down the drain as she was washing her hands before she began working on another patient, and I'm just as clumsy as she, so I - "

Helen held up a hand, a sly smirk directed at both of them. "Understandable. Well, how long will you be out of the office for for the honeymoon, Granger? You might want to inform Kingsley, we depend on you here, you know."

This was an obvious hint to both of them that they'd better get on it and speak with Kingsley after their ceremony. It was also an obvious hint that Helen had been fooled by their act. Hermione felt a pang of guilt for lying to her, but, she realized, her life was going to be chalk full of those, so she figured she might as well get used to it.

"Well, I'll let you two get to it. Do call for me if you need a witness, I'll happily oblige." She winked at Hermione one last time before she trekked off to the Muggle Relations Department, no doubt ready to spread the gossip about her closest coworker.  _I guess it isn't really gossip when it's true, and they'll all know by noon anyways, thanks to The Daily Prophet_. Hermione grimaced at the thought, but began walking again.

"The master manipulator." her voice was low enough that only Tom could hear her, and her glanced at her briefly, a smirk on his face.

"What can I say? You did well enough. Maybe the student will soon teach the master a lesson or two."

She wasn't sure if he was talking about manipulation or something else, but something told her that it was the latter given the undertone in his voice. She said nothing, but continued walking.

Hermione saw the entrance to the Auror department, and hoped to God, Merlin, whomever, that Harry didn't have business at work today -

They passed the door unscathed, but Hermione was almost positive that she spotted a head of notoriously messy black hair in the office through the glass walls. They finally reached the Family Relations Department, and as Tom let go of her to open the door in what she could only assume was his typical He-Who-Pretends-To-Be-Chivalrous fashion, he looked at her with his hand on the door handle.

"Are you ready to become Mrs. Riddle, Hermione?" there was a genuinely gleeful expression on his face that Hermione didn't understand, but it certainly unnerved her. She would expect that he would be as uninterested in this event as she was, if not more, being that regardless of their status as soulmates, she was still Harry Potter's best friend, one of many responsibly for his downfall.

Then she remembered what he'd said to her during their first meeting.

_"I much prefer being on a first name basis with those I find important to my cause. Of course I don't want you dead, you've no use to me in a grave."_

She was giving him what he wanted. Of course he was happy.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

And as he opened the door, gesturing for her to enter before him once more, she contemplated just how out of control her life was about to be again. But, if she was being honest with herself, the prospect of danger  _excited_  her. The life she had lived for the past two years, while morally satisfying, was particularly boring.

She entered the threshold, and Tom followed. She looked up at him, puzzled by her own thoughts just then. Sure, her life had lacked adventure over the past couple of years, but she didn't consider it boring. Rather uneventful, sure, but  _she_  was happy. Wasn't she? Wasn't -

"Ms. Granger!" a familiar voice boomed. Hermione looked forward to see Phillip Dragan, the receptionist for Family Relations. A genuine smile crossed her face as she and Tom moved forward quickly to the front desk, Hermione wordlessly plucking a marriage application from the papers lining the desk, and setting the quill provided to work filling out the necessary information.

"Oh Phillip! We've been through this. Call me Hermione. And how are you today?"

Phillip chuckled at this, waving a pudgy hand. "Alright, alright. I've been well, the mrs. is well. And who might this fellow be?"

Tom was overseeing the quills work, quickly intervening before it reached  _his_  birth date, and calculated the correct one. He would retain his birth date, he supposed, but the year would have to be modified accordingly. He wandlessly willed the quill to fill in the blank with 1978, the year before Hermione was born. But, given the dialogue happening before him, he was pulled from his thoughts.

He offered a slim hand, inwardly disgusted by the slimy hand in front of him. "Tom Riddle." he said simply, offering a smile, teeth and all. "Phillip Dragan." the older, much more round man said, looking back at Hermione as the form the quill had been filling out glided into the air before dropping into his hands. Phillip's eyebrows raised, and the contents of the piece of parchment in his hand elicited a grunt from him.

"Hermione, why have you never brought Mr. Riddle in to meet us before? Surely we'd remember your fiance." he asked curiously, signing the bottom of the page before handing it back to her.

_Really?_  Hermione thought sarcastically.  _Well, Phillip, for starters, we've only been around each other for a couple of weeks. But, more importantly, he's fucking Lord Voldemort. But you don't know that. None of you do. None of you understand the type of threat that entered this building this morning, and the kind of cell I'd not-so-kindly be placed in in Azkaban for even entertaining his existence without informing someone, anyone. But I can't, because my counterpart has me under an Unbreakable Vow._

"Ah, Phillip, you know I'm one to keep my professional life and my work life separate. But I can't exactly keep that up now, can I?" she joked, and Phillip chuckled at that. "No, you certainly can not. We look forward to seeing more of you around here, Mr. Riddle." he said, smiling meaningfully at Tom.

Tom grinned genuinely, and Hermione was taken aback by the expression. "I look forward to being around more, Phillip. And please, call me Tom."

Phillip nodded, a grin on his face. "Well, Hermione, you know where you're going. First door down the hall on the left."

"Thank you, Phillip."

With every step they took, Hermione felt her nerves growing. She considered just exactly what she was doing, and she quivered at the thought. She was marrying Tom Marvolo Riddle.

_I am Lord Voldemort_.

Tom heard the feminine tone to the thought that suddenly appeared in his mind as clear as day. Startled, he gripped Hermione's wrist as they stopped in front of the door they were directed to.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, low enough that only she could hear him. The genuine puzzled look on her face told him that she had no idea what he was talking about, and he let go of her wrist. Was he going mad?

"I… heard you. What were you thinking about just now?" he pressed, arms crossed across his chest.

"Tom," Hermione sighed, hand on the long, slender golden door handle. "Now's not the time for these games of yours. Let's get this over with - "

"I - " he stopped, realizing that there were more pressing matters at hand and this was hardly the place for this specific conversation, considering what he'd heard. Hermione pushed the door open, and he held it in place as she stepped through the threshold.

"Hello," the short man Tom assumed was their officiant spoke. "My name is Renaldo Vermilion. I will be your wedding officiant today."

Hermione smiled at the man, playing the part of excited fiance well enough. "Thank you for officiating our union, Mr. Vermillion. We'd like to get started as soon as possible."

Mr. Vermillion clasped his hands together, his white-blonde hair shifting as he did so. The man was barely taller than Hermione, and not very intimidating at all. But, with his obviously jolly disposition, that Hermione assumed that he was perfect for the job he occupied.

"Of course, of course. We require a witness, and I would like for the two of you to look over the different kinds of wedding ceremonies we deem appropriate here at the Ministry. As I'm sure you're both aware, your vows are magically binding, and depending on the ceremony you chose, the bindings become stronger. There are other concepts, but the book in front of you will explain that. I'll be back momentarily; I must fetch someone to bare witness to the union." And with that, he left, and Hermione walked up to the book in question. It was small, maybe fifteen pages total, and she read through the vows with nothing in particular jumping out at her. There was a section in the back of the book regarding soulmate marriages, and how they differ from proceedings of two normal individuals, and she handed the book off to Tom.

"It seems that we'll have to request the other book for ceremonies that pertain to us, otherwise the marriage won't be valid." She said as he read through the different sorts of marriage bindings that normal magical people could participate in.

"It appears that way. I'll go - "

The door opened just then, and Hermione was forced to keep her composure as the very person she wanted here least walked through the door with Mr. Vermillion.

"Hermione!" Harry said, a smile stretching across his face as he took in the sight of her alongside Tom. He didn't appear to recognize Tom, although she felt a particularly strong pull on her magic. Tom was trying to use Legilimency on Harry, an undetectable sort that would only be possible through combined magic. Somewhat unwillingly but understanding the need for it, she lent her magic to him. She was nervous. Harry's Occlumency skills were much higher than the average person's, and she was sure that he'd feel someone proving at his mind. But, he didn't appear to, and as Tom was looking for something very specific, she assumed that the intrusion was much less brutal. He smiled and moved forward to introduce himself, apparently happy with what he'd found. She felt her magic circling back towards her, filling her once more. With the magic came what Tom found, which was, thankfully, nothing.

Harry Potter had no recollection of Tom Marvolo Riddle or the Gaunts connection to him, nor the connection to Salazar Slytherin. He believed Voldemort was a name fashioned for someone else, someone with a different, albeit just as simple, name.

A bit of guilt crept up her chest and into her throat, making her sound slightly hoarse as she spoke. "Harry!" she beamed, smiling at her friend, though she wasn't exactly happy to see him. They hugged each other for a brief moment, and as he stepped back, he ran a hand through his messy hair as his eyes landed on Tom.

"Harry," he stuck his hand out awkwardly. "Harry Potter."

Tom took his hand and shook it. "Tom," he exchanged. "Tom Riddle."

Even with the assurance of Tom's findings, or lack thereof, Hermione intensely watched Harry for any sort of reaction to the name. There was none, and he was acting as if he was meeting anyone, someone normal for the first time, but he was quite obviously shocked.

He turned back to Hermione, a determined expression on his face, hands placed above his hips in his work robes. "Good. Now that we've got that formality out of the way, I'd like to know why this wasn't mentioned to us yesterday during dinner." Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Harry stopped her.

"Yea, yea, Phillip gave me a quick rundown on the excuse, keeping your professional and private lives separate, but you  _know_  that Ginny and I would've appreciated meeting him before you just off and marry him."

Hermione's lips turned into a thin line, but she looked to Mr. Vermillion. She understood where Harry was coming from, but being the woman she was, she shouldn't feel as if she  _had_  to disclose anything about her life, least of all her romantic life. "Mr. Vermillion, I believe we require your other book, the one detailing ceremonies that can be performed between soulmates."

Mr. Vermillion looked at her in blatant surprise, looking back over the marriage certificate he'd been handed previously. "My apologies, Ms. Granger, Mr. Riddle. What a silly oversight on my behalf. I'll be back in just a moment. Again, my sincerest apologies."

"It's quite alright, sir. We would just like our marriage to be valid, that's all."

Mr. Vermillion nodded, tanned cheeks reddened in embarrassment at the oversight. Thankfully, the Ministry paperwork only asked  _if_  you were soulmates, not what type of soulmates you were. She didn't imagine that the ceremonies were too much different between types of soulmates, but she would wait for confirmation on that fact.

Mr. Vermillion took his leave, and Hermione turned back to Harry. "Harry, I understand that you're shocked, but bare in mind that this is  _still_  my wedding day and I'd like it to go as smoothly as possible. Now is not the time for explanations."

Regret flashed in Harry's eyes, and he nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - "

"I know, Harry. A different time." Hermione said softly, all the while, Tom watched the exchange with a curious look on his face.

Harry grinned. "I'll hold you to it, 'Mione." He looked back to Tom, who was feigning ignorance to the situation unfolding before him, though he'd orchestrated the entire thing. To have the upper hand on Potter… it was slightly empowering.

"I'm sorry, Tom, I just assumed that Hermione would've told us, or told  _someone_  that she was engaged. The lot of us aren't quite used to good surprises… quite the opposite, actually." Harry shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, grimacing slightly.

"Oh please, don't apologize Mr. Potter. It is quite the extraordinary experience to be in the presence of The-Boy-Who-Lived, and I am so honored that you'd bare witness to this union."

Hermione knew exactly what Tom was doing, and she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. He was exerting the little bit of power he had over Harry, the knowledge he had where Harry remained woefully ignorant - but it was pointless, because Harry was, of course,  _woefully ignorant_  to what he was about to witness.

Harry smiled uncomfortably, and nodded. "Yea," he said. "Yea."

Just then, Mr. Vermillion re-entered the room with another, even smaller booklet. "Here you are." He handed it to Tom, who began to inspect the contents. He looked up at the two other men in the room, a smile on his perfect features. "May we have a moment to discuss this, gentlemen?"

"Of course, of course!" Mr. Vermillion ushered himself and Harry out of the room, and while Harry looked like he wanted to protest, he apparently thought the better of it and decided against it. Once the door was shut, Tom cast a silencing charm and handed the book off to Hermione.

"Page 4." He said, pretending to inspect his impeccably groomed fingernails with a mischievous grin on his face.

Hermione opened the booklet and purposely read through every page  _except_  page 4, saving it for last. When she finally did turn to the page, she was slightly surprised at the contents, and that this was legal here at the Ministry.

_Soulmate marriage ceremonies vary from the marriage ceremonies of ordinary magical people. Soulmate ceremonies have their own traditions, just as other sects of magical people, such as purebloods, honor specific traditions past down from previous generations within their ceremonies._

_Soulmates are already bound by Fate, but those that deem it appropriate to take their relationship a step further through marriage will find themselves especially bonded._

_This is particularly true for the most rare and powerful pair; the Inaversilibis._

_Ceremonial Proceedings #8 For Soulmates_

_This particular bond creates a specific protection for both mates in this pair._

_The marriage ceremony starts with the exchange of blood between both participants palms, hands intertwined. The officiant is to perform a magic-binding vow, in which both participants agree to vows of their own choosing and should they stray from those vows, their magic shall be permanently taken away._

_Topics that are usually included in these vows consist of 'death do us part', a saying that is interchangeable with both Muggle and Magical ceremonies, but is particularly binding with this ceremony. Another topic that is common amongst those who use this proceeding is infidelity. This is considered safe and legal amongst soulmates, because many mates would much rather die than live without their counterpart._

_The binding is completed when the officiant announces it as such._

Hermione felt particularly nauseous after reading that, immediately saying "no", shaking her head.

Tom tutted, sitting on the edge of oak desk that decorated the room.

"Hermione, if we are to play the part - "

"No. I will not bind my  _magic_  to such ridiculous rules. We're already constricted enough by Inaversibilis. A simple ceremony will suffice. There are several to choose from."

"We can keep to the two simple vows that it mentions. I don't think that's too much to ask, that we don't stray out of our marriage."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, considering this. She  _could_  use this to her advantage. A magic-less Tom was about as good as  _no_  Tom at all. And it wasn't as if she wouldn't be able to fulfill those vows if it came down to it. So -

A thought came to her. "Ah, fine. So long as the vows stay simple. If we are, you know, playing the part, Tom, we may want to include something along the lines of "to love, to cherish, and - "

"No." Tom shook his head, sneering at the idea. "I don't fancy losing my magic the moment our marriage is validated."

And so, they decided on a simple, relatively harmless ceremony. It was blood magic, but there were few within the pages of the ceremonies designed for soulmates that  _didn't_  include some form of blood magic. It didn't require anything of them that wasn't already required of them within the basic rules of Inaversibilis.

Tom told Mr. Vermillion and Harry that they were ready to proceed, and informed Mr. Vermillion of their chosen ceremony. He paled slightly, appearing to have never officiated a soulmate ceremony, but Harry seemed relatively unbothered. He was an part of a soulmate pair, and so, he and Ginny had to follow proceedings from the book Mr. Vermillion had handed them. There was a bit of blood magic involved in their ceremony, Hermione remembered watching and wondering why. Harry had explained that he and Ginny were soulmates, but didn't explain further. She'd thought that he just meant that they were meant for each other in a sentimental way, not in a literal way.

Mr. Vermillion unsheathed his wand, and asked for the two of them to stand across from each other. Harry stood to the side, watching the ceremony unfold.

"We shall begin. We have gathered today to witness the union of one, Hermione Jean Granger to Tom Marvolo Riddle. Mr. Riddle, if you please."

Tom held out his hands, slightly unnerved at the idea of someone else performing any sort of slicing hex on him, especially someone who had never performed a soulmate marriage ceremony before, and had likely never officiated blood magic before in his life.

" _Diffindo_." Mr. Vermillion muttered, slicing a single line open in each of Tom's hands. His breath was short and heavy, and Tom, Hermione, and Harry were aware of just how nervous this man was. "Now Mr. Riddle, if you'd hold your hands, palm forward, facing Ms. Granger."

Tom did as he was told, blood slowly dripping down his palms. He knew that blood magic was the furthest a bond could be taken, magically speaking, and although he realized the benefits of this particular ceremony, he was nervous. Because yes, she was bound to him, but he was also bound to her. It wasn't in his character to be bound to another individual in so many different ways. Not at all.

"Ms. Granger." Mr. Vermillion mumbled, and as Hermione held her hands out, she heard him mutter  _Diffindo_  once more. She felt a slight stinging sensation, but did as Mr. Vermillion had told Tom to do, placing her hands palm-up, facing Tom. They waited for a moment as Mr. Vermillion took his place beside them. "You may join hands."

Slowly, Hermione moved her hands towards Tom's unmoving ones. He seemed nervous about something, but she wasn't sure what. When their fingers interlocked, and their palms were flush against each other, Hermione felt a jolt rush through her body. Tom remained unmoving, a nervous smile on his face as he waited for further instruction from their officiant. As their hands joined, a chartreuse colored robe of magic wrapped itself around their combined hands.  _The beginning of the binding._  She thought.

"I, Ronaldo Vermillion, call upon the magic of Hermione Jean Granger, and the magic of Tom Marvolo Riddle." He was holding his wand with one hand, and the booklet explaining the ceremony proceedings in the other. His voice was shaky, and Hermione figured that that was likely the cause of his sudden nervousness. She chanced a glance over at Harry, who smiled encouragingly, nodding towards the officiant, telling Hermione to pay attention.

"These magicks shall be bonded together, by my proclamation, from here until the end of time."

Hermione felt a very odd, but pleasant sensation flow through her, and from the looks of it, Tom felt it, too. But she couldn't help the look of shock that etched itself on her face as she stared at Mr. Vermillion. That was not what the book said, she'd read it. Harry look startled, and spoke up. "Uh, Mr. Vermillion, my wife and I used this same ceremony and there was no mention of - "

"I - I, uhm, misspoke. Forgive me." Mr. Vermillion was trembling now, and took in a shuddered breath. "These magicks shall be bonded together, by my proclamation, until death do you part."

"Uh - if either party would like to say vows, now would be the time."

Hermione looked to Tom, who was looking positively giddy all of the sudden. Maybe it was the strange sensation of their magic being interlaced, their blood running through each other's veins? Or was it - was it -

Why was he suddenly giddy and no longer nervous?

"I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, promise to protect, provide, and teach you to the best of my abilities. I promise to remain faithful within the confines of our marriage." as he spoke, four thin ropes of magic, blue, yellow, scarlet and white, wrapped themselves around their joined hands, joining the chartreuse colored rope, the "lifeline" magic, as the book had called it. It wasn't a literal lifeline, but it was the lifeline of their marriage, the foundation upon which it stood. Hermione swallowed heavily, breathing in. His vows weren't too specific, mostly things that he was required to do because of their specific soulmate bond.

She supposed she ought to come up with something similar.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, promise to uphold the fidelity of our marriage. I promise to learn, teach, and respect you to the best of my abilities." Four thin ropes of magic wrapped around their hands once more, and the once chartreuse colored lifeline rope turned a pastel pink color. Hermione stared at it curiously, wondering what exactly she'd said or done that the color of their lifeline rope changed. The lifeline rope was important, and was present in all magical marriage ceremonies, even the most simplistic ones. She would have to find out what pastel pink signified. She looked to Tom, who was staring at her intently, no longer watching the now much thicker magical rope that engulfed their combined hands. She glanced at Mr. Vermillion, who was staring at their hands with curiosity and awe, apparently just as unaware of the meaning as she was. He regained his composure, and spoke again.

"I, Ronaldo Vermillion, accept these vows, and by my proclamation, your lifeline will depend on these vows. Hermione, do you accept Tom Marvolo Riddle as your husband, and accept your duty to uphold the vows that you have taken here today?"

Hermione inhaled sharply, looking to Harry. He nodded at her again, but he was clearly enamored with the color of their lifeline. She felt tears begin to form, realizing that she was pledging her life to a man she despised.  _Used to despise._  Her inner voice reminded her, and she shoved the voice down into the back of her consciousness, not needing the cheek.

Of course, Harry and the officiant would believe her tears were of happiness, as most bride's tears were on their wedding day, but Tom knew that hers were anything but.

"I do." She proclaimed at last, and suddenly, a thread of her magic squeezed itself through the enclosed space between their hands, a beautiful lavender color, and intertwined with the lifeline rope.

"Tom, do you accept Hermione Jean Granger as your wife, and accept your duty to uphold the vows that you have taken here today?"

"I do." the words were spoken without hesitation, which only served to confuse Hermione even more. One single tear made its way down her cheek, spilling over, and along with it, any hope she had of actually defeating the man before her. Marrying him was a mistake. She knew now. It  _had_  to have been a bloody mistake.

Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest, so hard that she was afraid it might burst through her chest and run off somewhere. It didn't, but it continued to beat hard, faster, as the officiant spoke the final words to validate their marriage.

"I, Ronaldo Vermillion, pronounce you, Tom Marvolo Riddle and Hermione Jean Riddle, husband and wife. Your lifeline rope has been sealed. You may now - "

Hermione closed her eyes as Tom let go of her hands, and brought on up to the small of her back quickly. She didn't want more tears to spill over. She didn't want to really face the reality of this situation.

" - kiss - "

Her hands moved of their own accord up to his shoulders, and his other hand found it's way to her cheek as it had the night before.

And, similarly to their time together the night before, his touch made Hermione want to - it made her want to -

" - the - "

_Touch me._  She thought.  _Please, just touch -_

" - bride."

The last word was spoken, and soft, full lips found hers. She wasn't surprised by the burst of want within her, the burst of  _need_ , as he graceful moved his lips against hers, and she surrendered to his touch, to his embrace. His tongue flickered out to meet her lips softly, and she opened her mouth just enough that she could  _taste_  - so she could feel. She leaned further into him, and he accepted the contact, pulling her by the small of her back further, further, because this contact wasn't - it wasn't enough -

Before Hermione had the chance to deepen the kiss, Tom pulled away from her, a glorious smile upon his face as Harry and Mr. Vermillion clapped quietly at the union they'd just witnessed. Hermione smiled, following his lead, still entranced by his touch, by his lips, by the hand that was still resting on the small of her back. The hand that guided her through the blur of saying goodbye, of Harry telling her that he'd gladly explain to Kingsley why she'd be out for a few days, because at some point, she'd assured him that she'd only be gone for a few days, but Tom had pulled Harry aside while she stared at him with a hunger she wasn't familiar with at all, something she hadn't felt with Viktor or Ron, something she'd never felt before in her life, for  _anyone_   _except_   _him_  -

He told Harry that she would be back the following Monday, and that he would like a full week with his new bride, and that she was too focused on work, she needed to decompress anyways, yes, that's what Harry had said back, and he'd followed with a grim  _so much for her wedding day going smoothly_ , and -

And she didn't know why she felt dazed when they finally arrived back at the manor. She barely noticed as Tom addressed a small group of Death Eaters, or the looks of disgust that were being thrown her way. She didn't know what to do as Tom guided her, explaining that he had had Frein travel to Hermione's flat and retrieve her things, because she would live in the manor as they'd discussed. He told her that he would deal with Dredskew, not to worry, he would pay the rent for the remainder of the lease if he had to. He told her that she was welcome to stay in the room she'd stayed in the night before, or she could - and she decided to, move into his chambers. She would  _play the part_ ,

But she wasn't just playing anymore. She'd realized, after the depth of their kiss, the lengths that she would've gone to in that moment to get him to just  _touch_   _her_  -

He was Tom Riddle, and she was his wife.

He was Lord Voldemort, and she was his wife.

He was Tom Riddle, and she was his soulmate.

He was Lord Voldemort, and she was his  _soulmate_  -

A burning desire coursed through her as she undressed in the bathroom, the immaculate bathroom that she had destroyed once - staring at the blood stain on the back of her dress, where Tom's still-bloody hand had been, the small of her back, and she just, she  _wanted_ ,

She left the bathroom, entranced in her own thoughts, rather than because of his touch. She was lost in her thoughts, as she had been since their kiss, analyzing it, searching for an explanation, for someone, something to explain why she felt this way about someone who ruined her world.

She sat in the familiar armchair that was now presumably hers, clad in only a long t shirt and her undergarments, contemplating her decisions from this point on. She could enjoy herself along the way. She could accomplish her task and make the most of it, in every way possible. She may as well, since she was unable to get out of it, and her task wouldn't be completed for months, if not years.

She could live with the idea that he would get what he deserved in due time, but he was her soulmate and as it hit her, the fact that her soul didn't really want to hurt him, didn't want to see him hurt by anyone, that maybe, subconsciously, she was protecting him when she'd manipulated Harry and Ginny's memories, just as much as she was protecting them. And then, she realized.

She was already too far, too deep. The moment she'd met him, she was in too far, too deep.

And instead of berating herself over it any longer, she decided to dive even deeper.

_Play the part._

* * *

 

Tom had noticed Hermione's dazed state as soon as he'd kissed her. The effects were quite dazzling for him, and if he were honest, he'd  _never_  felt connected to another human being before, but, he supposed that that was to be expected of soulmates and now, spouses. However, Hermione, much more prone to feelings and emotions, not just because of her never having split her soul several times and adjusting to her initial state of mind  _before_  the horocruxes were made, no, because of her positively Gryffindor attitude and personality.

He'd also noticed, though, how calculated she looked as he apparated them back to the manor. How harshly she was analyzing everything, so much so that she'd forgotten what was going on around her, unable to answer Potter herself. He'd sprung into action quickly, of course, answering for her and making an excuse that he wasn't sure someone who'd known her for years and years would believe, unsure of someone else's reaction for once in a very long time, but it had worked in his favor.

She didn't pay much attention as Death Eaters surrounded them as they walked through the double doors that led inside his manor, he wasn't even sure if she'd noticed their presence. He had intended to enforce her position to them, to make it known that she was their better, but instead, he led her through the halls as some sort of instinct told him to. She did respond when he mentioned making the room beside his room hers permanently, but she objected. She offered no explanation, just asked to be left alone to change. He obliged, and left the room to address his following alone. He knew she wouldn't actively participate anyway, but he'd hoped to solidify his words with her presence instead of force.

Unfortunately, force became necessary for one of his more petulant followers.

_"But My Lord, she is a Mudblood! She's not worthy of - " Bellatrix had hissed the word as if it were a disease, and he'd admittedly snapped._

_He couldn't harm Hermione, nor did he really want to because it would unravel the little progress he'd made with her thus far, but her cheek was a bit too much for him, and his temper was flaring as it was._

_And he did tell them before that the use of that word in reference to Hermione would result in unpleasant circumstances, so he needed to be true to his word._

_"Crucio!" He'd said the word in a much more forceful voice than usual, intentionally so, in order to put more force behind the curse._

_Bellatrix's screams normally would've echoed throughout the manor, but he'd placed a silencing charm over the foyer to prevent that. He mustn't disturb his wife._

_His other followers that were present - his seniors - the Malfoys minus Draco, the Carrows, Yaxley, Greyback, and Dolohov, knew better than to flinch. Dolohov even grinned, but he expected nothing less from one of his most ruthless followers._

_Satisfied that Bellatrix had underwent a fitting punishment, he lifted the curse. A sob escaped her throat, and Tom grabbed her by her hair, pulling her upright again. She obliged, sniffling faintly, staring down at her feet._

_He let go of her and began pacing in front of them. "Let me make myself clear, if I haven't already." He started, stopping to look up at Lucius Malfoy, who's eyes grew the smallest bit wider. "I will not tolerate any disrespect towards my soulmate, my wife. She is the reason why I stand here today, and why you have a leader today. She is why Fate chose to bring me back yet again, and give me a form that is unknown to most of the living. She is why we will succeed this time - our own secret weapon. So,"_

_He looked up again, no longer pacing, just watching the reactions of his Death Eaters._

_"The next time I hear a word of disrespect directed towards Mrs. Riddle, what you have witnessed here today will look like a dream compared to what I will do to you." He looked pointedly at Bellatrix, who was peeking up at him with crazed eyes from beneath a curtain of frizzy, matted, curly hair._

_"Narcissa." He called, still looking at Bellatrix._

_Lucius stiffened at his wife's name being called, but his wife stepped forward. "Yes, my Lord?"_

_"Clean your sister up in your home. See to it that this does not happen again, or I shall hold all three of you responsible."_

_Narcissa looked down at her crouched sister, still trembling from the Cruciatus she was under just a moment ago. She found herself wishing, for the millionth time, that he would just stay dead. He ruined her sister, everything Bella could have been. He ruined her family, with Draco in hiding in America and Lucius looking, feeling and acting much older and colder than he had before this wretched man ascended from the dead the first time around. She'd thought Potter and his friends had rid the world of him for good, and she was grateful for that. But no, the Granger girl was the reason he was back - again. She would pay._

_"Yes, my Lord." she said softly in response._

_"You are all dismissed."_

Now he was concerned with Hermione, and the safety of his plan. He'd always been told that she was the most intelligent and witty out of the lot of them, along with the most level-headed. But she was allowing a need to analyze and understand to hinder her to the point that her senses were not working properly. How did she  _not_  see the group of people who stood in the foyer as they made their way into the manor? How did she just -

The bottom line was that if Hermione was unstable, so were his plans.

He stalked off to his -  _their_  chambers, intent on resolving this little problem.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: A Consummation**

* * *

 

 

The double doors opened, and Hermione looked up, startled, from her position in one of the two armchairs that decorated the sitting area of the bedroom. Her knees were pressed against her chest, and she was twirling her wand between her hands before he'd entered, contemplating how to go about this.

 

The kiss made her realize just how serious this situation was, and how much depended on her success. She knew that in order for her to succeed, she had to give into her urges, her feelings, because he had to believe it was genuine. The sheer guilt of her decisions was consuming her in such a way that she was feeling disgusted with herself for going through with it in the first place. But he would only believe it to be genuine if it _was_ genuine, at least a portion of it. She couldn't let guilt overcome her, not anymore.

  


And so, as he walked into the room, he startled her, and she looked up. Her caramel eyes were swirling with desire, and he had to encourage her to act. She couldn't be so overcome by guilt that she didn't act like herself, or else it would fall apart. He smirked, noting her clothing, or lack thereof.

 

“It's only noon, you know. You should put something more suitable on.”

 

Hermione said nothing in response, but continued to twirl her wand, obviously not in the mood to be verbally tormented. She let out a sigh, unraveling her legs from their position against her chest.

 

“We are stuck with each other, Tom.”

 

“I am aware, Hermione.”

 

“We might as well make the best of it.” It was silent for several moments before Tom sat in the armchair across from hers, crossing his legs in his typical fashion.

 

“Tom, I know that you're not entirely Voldemort. I understand the concept behind horocruxes, but you're still responsible. And although you're not the same, you _are,_ and that's something that I can't come to terms with. I can't fathom attraction to... to someone who - who - “

 

“My memories as Voldemort are fading quickly. You see, part of the reason I chose to resign the name, aside from obvious reasons regarding the public, was because that was one piece of eight. The other seven pieces weren't perfect, no, but they were… more tamed. I almost feel like I _am_ my teenage self again, that it was all a - “

 

“Dream.” She finished dutifully, looking up at him now. “You told me this last night.”

 

He sighed. “My point is that I have been given the opportunity to live another lifetime from the mindset of my 16 year old self, onward. I will not make the same mistakes that I did in the past.”

 

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she continued to twirl her wand in her between hands. “And yet, you've still got a band of Death Eaters, _my Lord.”_ She looked up at him as the last words left her mouth in a mocking, defiant manner that matched the tone of her words.

 

He stood suddenly, and Hermione straightened, lowering her wand to her side as she sat staring at the Dark Lord. “They are a means to an end Hermione, nothing more.”

 

“They are a group of fugitives, for the most part, and you think they'll help you obtain whatever it is you're after? Tom, maybe you don't realize this, but the Malfoys don't exactly have as much clout in the political atmosphere as they used to, neither does Yaxley. They weren't punished because they were _lucky,_ lucky that the Wizengamot believed the dreadful lie Lucius procured, claiming to have been under the Imperius curse. Your other followers hadn't been seen up until recently, by me. And even so, the ones that have gone missing are still considered fugitives. Their influence is severely lacking, in case you haven't noticed. So how, exactly, do you plan to use them to achieve your end-goal, unless you plan on achieving it by force like you tried to the past two times. Do I need to give you a refresher on how that ended? That's preposterous and you're much too intelligent of a man to think otherwise.”

 

Hermione wasn't prepared for him to get angry.

 

But, Merlin, was he _angry._

 

He moved so quickly that Hermione wasn't sure he was ever standing a few feet from her in the first half place. He was directly in front of her now, bent at the waist with his hands on either side of her, holding onto the cushions of the armchair.

 

His forest green eyes were furious, and his full lips were pressed harshly into a thin line. Hermione didn't back down, though, staring right back at him. It wasn't as if he could harm her. Even with the rules of Inaversibilis ignored, his magic was _bound_ to her, to protect her. He wouldn't risk it.

 

So he stared at her, intimidatingly, but she didn't back down.

 

“Do not question me, Hermione. I will _not_ tolerate such impudence.”

 

“And you think that _I_ will tolerate such disrespect? Tom, I am only informing you that your plans will _fail_ centered around your Death Eaters, not that I mind if they fail miserably once again.”

 

She thought that he'd only get more angry with her, but he didn't. His lips curled up into a smile, a genuine one. And he did the strangest thing -

 

He started _laughing._ It was an absolutely sublime sound, and Hermione cursed the disturbingly lascivious feeling that his laughter elicited in her core, clumsily attempted to cross her legs as her cheeks heated up with a familiar blush, only to be blocked by Tom's knee. She narrowed her eyes at him, and she was about to tell him to move as his laughter turned into random chuckles and he placed a warm hand on her cheek.

 

“Oh, Hermione,” he started, and she felt her cheeks grow even hotter because of his inexplicably desirable touch. Her lips parted just a bit as she stared at his lips, willing him to just kiss her. “You're just so blissfully unaware. Assumptions will bring you no closer to deducing my intentions. There is power in numbers, you know.” He finished, each word becoming quieter and quietly as he found himself uncharacteristically entranced by the proximity of their bodies.

 

Hermione watched as his eyes roved over her barely clothed figure, a sliver of hunger filling his previously furious eyes.

 

It happened simultaneously.

 

She all but lunged for him, and he for her, and their lips met once more and it was _glorious -_

 

Her lips parted as their kiss deepened, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her magic erratically encouraging her to melt into him, his touch. Their tongues danced melodically, and she felt a hand run through her hair before it rested on the back of her neck.

 

She felt a familiar jolt when she wrapped her legs around his waist and he stood, never breaking their kiss. His hands moved to cup her thighs as he pressed her against a nearby wall, and she wove a hand in his thick, obsidian colored hair, running her tongue across his bottom lip. He grunted as they broke apart, breathing heavily and staring at each other.

 

The question in his eyes was apparent, and she bit her lip as she barely nodded her approval, her core begging her for relief, relief brought by _him -_

 

His hands left her thighs and trailed further to her bottom as he quickly advanced them to the bed, _their_ bed, and she intently rejoined their lips as she felt her back come in contact with the soft silk comforter. He ground his hips down on hers, eliciting a moan of encouragement from her. He broke off from their kiss to work his way down her jaw, placing feathered kisses across her neck.

 

Hermione couldn't catch her breath as the pressure of his groin pressed against hers overwhelmed her, and she heard herself talking - “ _please Tom, please just - “_

 

He groped her breasts as he kissed her neck, softly running his tongue over the skin covering her trachea and she lifted her hips to meet his, and she felt the length of his member through the trousers underneath his robes -

 

She clumsily pulled his dress robes from his shoulders, willing him to aid her. He froze in his trail of kisses and sat up, removing every piece of clothing aside from his trousers. Hermione, still having trouble catching her breath, was inelegantly attempting to remove her shirt, but Tom was done before her and pulled her t-shirt over her head, pushing her roughly back down on the bed as he moved to grope her breasts again - running his tongue across the curve of her right breast. She keened under his touch, bucking against him, desperately seeking relief.

 

Her body felt warm, warm with desire and magic, and it was _blissful._ But she wanted him. She wanted him inside of her, _needed_ the intimate contact from _him_ -

 

_Just touch me, please just -_

 

He grabbed the straps of her bra and ripped them down, revealing her breasts completely.

 

_Just for him._

 

He bucked against her hips again, earning another moan, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. _Mine_. He thought, taking in the sheer perfection of her breasts, her perfectly shaped nipples calling to him, _begging him to -_

 

He went to work again, swirling his tongue around her areola, and Hermione pushed on the nape of his neck, forcing his mouth over the entirety of her nipple. He sucked on it gentle, his right hand moving down the length of her torso, intent on removing her knickers.

 

As he continued lapping at nipple, her moan driving him to show her just how much pleasure he could give her, he maneuvered his index finger across the fabric of her knickers, until he found the little nub he knew he could use to bring her closer to ecstasy. She drew in a sharp breath, the hand that was tangled in his hair grasping even harder.   
  
  


He ran his tongue from one nipple to the other, slowly working his finger in circular motions around her clitoris. She bucked against his finger, keening in delight at the feeling.   
  
  


Hermione felt like she was in a trance. She had an excessive desire burning within her to do whatever he told her, as long as he’d be satisfied. She wanted him inside of her, wanted to feel the foreign sensation of his member inside her, wanted to feel what it was like to be combined, to be one physically with him. As his fingers and mouth worked her into a frenzy, she moaned loudly, and she felt him smile in satisfaction over her breasts.

 

“Tom, please.” she managed to choke out, causing him to stop and smirk at her.

 

  
“Please, what?” he asked, intentionally provoking her to beg him. He wanted her to _beg._

 

 He wasn’t sure how much longer he could contain his own desire, with his length pressing tightly against his trousers. He continued the circular motions of his finger and bucked himself against her, and she cried out unexpectedly.   
  
  


“ _Please,_ Tom.” she breathed out, reaching down to relieve him of his trousers herself, unbuttoning them before she tried to push them down, but she was unable - because he was putting just the right amount of pressure on her nub, and she inwardly laughed at herself for the wasted effort as he propped himself up just enough that his trousers were out of reach.   
  


  
He lifted his hand away from her most private area, and she reached down to mimic his movements herself.

 

He caught her wrist and looked at her expectantly, panting heavily as he did so.   
  
  


Hermione looked down at his trousers, staring down as his member pushed against the fabric of his pants.

 

She felt her mouth watering, she was _yearning_ for the intimacy _-_

 

“Please, Tom _what?_ ” he asked again, still grasping her wrist with a vice-like grip, pinning it down to the bed. His forest green eyes piercing into her caramel brown orbs and it only made her want him more. “What do you want, Hermione?” he whispered, his voice of velvet washing over her as she tried to will herself to respond.   
  
  


“Please _fuck_ me, Tom.” she said softly, and as the word _fuck_ left her mouth, Tom pulled his trousers down with his free hand, unceremoniously throwing them to the floor, along with his undergarments.

 

He was breathless and excited, she could tell.

 

But suddenly as she stared down at his rather large endowment, she became nervous. She'd fooled around at times, so she'd seen a penis before, but never one that was quite as large as his.

 

She looked up at him, and as he sensed her nervousness, he smiled rather smugly.

 

“Cold feet, Granger?” He teased, but there was a hint of seriousness that she made note of in his voice. He was giving her a chance to say no, before her virginity was taken by the man that had already taken _so much_ from her.

 

And though she appreciated his thought, the idea that he respected her and had enough common sense to listen to her, she just wanted him to -

 

 

“No, and it's _not_ Granger. It's Riddle.”

 

He smirked at this statement, and validated it with his own. “You're _mine._ ”

 

Hermione normally would've objected that _no,_ she wasn't anybody's, because that implied she was property. That implied that she wasn't - that she wasn't worth anything other than belonging to somebody, as their wife, soulmate, friend, whatever it might be. But today, she didn't object. And instead, she agreed.

 

“Yes, I'm yours.”

 

A jilted breath escaped her as he filled her to the hilt in one swift movement, a stinging pain searing through her as she the small barrier that marked her a virgin tear. The pain was quickly overshadowed by a pleasure so great that she involuntarily shuddered. It felt _right,_ and as she breathed out, a moan escaped her as she did so. He didn't move, but she could tell that he wanted to. He was restraining himself.

  


Not a word was spoken as a pregnant pause encased them.

 

Tom watched as her expression changed from pain into an enlivened and renewed expression of desire, taking that as a sign that she was ready.

 

He felt a ravenous jolt of euphoria rush through him as he slowly disconnected their joined sexes and advanced into her again, an involuntary shudder coursing through him.

 

Hermione’s senses felt as if they were intensified as he began moving, his movements becoming more and more fleeting with each thrust. She arched her back willingly to allow him easier entry into her body.

 

Tom was moving much quicker now, overcome by an insatiable urge to deepen their intimacy. Her arms draped over his shoulders now as she scraped at the skin there, squirming closer to him. Her quivering body, shaky breaths and mewling  satiated his inclination to please her, driving him closer to the edge.

 

His thrusts became much more desperate and shallow as they both neared the apex of their physicality and she found herself reaching in between their joined bodies to rub a finger against the nub of nerves he'd been mouthing earlier. Hermione snaked her unoccupied hand around his neck again to kiss him. He obliged, balancing his weight on his forearms as he continued his shallow thrusts towards and her body rocked along with his. Their tongues fought for dominance once more against each other, and finally, her vaginal walls began to contract around his cock in anticipation of her climax. He intentionally quickened his pace, pounding into her now as she moaned loudly into his mouth before she cried out in ecstasy. He felt a pulse of her magic rush through her and into him as he brought her to her orgasm, gratifying him even more.

 

He quickly followed, a low grunt escaping him as he found his release inside of her, her vaginal walls still contracting inconsistently. He didn't want to move.

* * *

 

 

Hermione's legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, and as he withdrew from her and laid beside her, she untangled herself from him. They were both panting heavily, and Hermione wiped beads of sweat away from her forehead, along with a few stray damp hairs from her head.   
  
  
“That was…” she began.

 

“Exquisite.” he finished, a marvelous smile on his lips as he laid on his side beside her, his head propped up by one of his arms.

 

Hermione didn’t answer, instead she threw an arm over her eyes and groaned. _I’ve just been shagged by the Dark Lord. I’ve just been shagged by the Dark Lord._ The words continued to float in her mind over and over as she curled her legs up to her chest. She ignored the urge to cry, only allowing herself a few moments to get herself together. Surely that wasn’t unreasonable. _And I_ enjoyed _it._ She snorted softly, earning a slightly confused look from Tom that she didn’t notice with her arm still draped over her eyes. ‘Enjoyed’ was an understatement. It had been marvelous, really, and relieving the sexual tension that had grown so quickly and earnestly between them had been blisteringly gratifying. That made it all the more shameful.

 

She wasn’t sure how long they’d laid there, she in her thoughts and he, presumably in his own with an arm underneath her shoulders with her curled inwardly.

 

“I thought we’d moved past this dreadful bemoaning of our situation?” he inquired after a while, seemingly irritated. Hermione peeked up at him from beneath her arm.

 

“We have.” she lied. “I’m just wondering how I’ll spend my time during the next seven days provided I’m in your company.”

 

“You’re lying.”   
  
  
She internally cursed herself for not lying well enough, but she supposed there were worse things to be questionably untalented in. Nothing else was said about the topic as she stood, searching for her clothing. She felt much better. She assumed that consummating the marriage also consummated their soulmate bond, and she was feeling much more like herself than usual.

 

“I have no reason to lie to you about this, Tom. It’s no secret that this marriage is unconventional to say the least.”

 

“I would agree, but you're still lying.”

 

Hermione turned quickly, stomping a foot down as her hands came to rest on her hips. “I've had enough of this conversation! You may think I'm lying but I can think of few things worse than being soul bond _and_ married to one of the most powerful and feared dark wizards in history!” She huffed, and looked down to continue her search for her clothing.

 

Tom chuckled darkly. “A dark wizard that you allowed to thoroughly shag you. Be careful, witch. You _may_ find yourself becoming more hypocritical by the moment if you continue to deny the bond between us and the inevitable feelings you will be privy to as a result of it. I wonder, how will the great Hermione Granger fair in the war going on in her morally simplistic mind over her connection to ‘one of the most feared dark wizards in history’?” He mocked her as she pulled her clothing on.

 

She huffed again, speaking so quietly that she hoped he didn't hear her. “A good question, indeed.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: A Small, Dark Victory**

* * *

 

The next few days passed by quickly and quietly for Hermione. They'd both begun to act more like themselves after the consummation. Tom was distant – only speaking to her when he deemed it absolutely necessary. She wasn't surprised, of course. Even if he wasn't exactly Lord Voldemort anymore,  _even though he was,_ she knew that that was likely just part of his personality. He didn't seem like the type to get extremely close to, well, anyone. And if she was being honest, she didn't mind the solidarity that his distance allowed her. She began researching more about their bond, having gained the courage to open that damned book once again. She was desperate to find a way around some of the despicable, barbaric rules that the two of them were subjected to – but not for Tom's use. She was almost positive that if he could hurt her, he would have by now. Why wouldn't he? She openly defied him several times, something that she was sure he wasn't used to, nor was he particularly fond of it.

She sighed, sitting up in the grand and ridiculously gaudy bed that she'd been laying in for the past four hours. She looked around the room and stood. She brushed off her clothing – a simple burgundy sweatshirt and black sweatpants (What exactly did she need to dress up for, anyway? She knew that her less than casual clothing irked her husband, so she capitalized on those effects as much as possible the past few days), and stalked towards the bookshelf in the corner of the room. She pulled the title she had been researching, hoping to come across some sort of information that she might have missed. She'd read the book cover to cover at least a dozen times now, but she was sure that there was something within these pages that would assist her. Fate couldn't be quite  _that_ cruel, right? It couldn't deem it necessary to soul bond an unsuspecting woman to a dark wizard with no way out. No, that was just downright  _cruel._ Shaking her head to rid herself of the self-pity thoughts that crowded her brain, she set out, once again, to search for any information she might have missed.

She opened the book to the chapter on Inaversibilis soulmates once again, skimming the pages for any valuable information she might have overlooked in her initial shock over the matter.

She spent the next hour reading and rereading the chapter and other chapters that she thought might contain relevant information, all to no avail. She sighed heavily, standing to her feet to put the book back in it's rightful place. Just as she was about to lay back down in the oversized bed before her to sulk some more over her situation, her stomach growled lightly.

She groaned inwardly. She hadn't eaten since this morning, when Frein, Tom's house elf, quite literally forced her to eat eggs and toast.

_"Missus must eat! Master will be angry with Frein if Missus doesn't eat!" The tiny house elf declared, pushing a piece of toast into Hermione's raised, open palm, which was hovering over her mouth._

_"Frein, I'll tell him that I ate! I'm not hungry. Please stop!" Hermione's muffled voice exclaimed, but her words did nothing to stop the elf._

_"Master will see in Frein's mind that Missus didn't eats! Please Missus, you must eat, you must!"_

_Hermione had to admit that Frein had a point. Tom definitely had the ability to read his house elf's mind, and although she wasn't sure that he was concerned enough about her health to read Frein's mind, she decided that it was better to ease Frein's mind than to continue fighting with her over some eggs and a couple of pieces of buttered toast._

_Abruptly, Hermione dropped her hand, much to Frein's relief. Her wide, round eyes glimmered with happiness as she laid the piece of toast down on the plate in front of her. She pushed it towards Hermione and said, "Thank you, Missus, thank you! Frein will be right back with some juice for Missus to wash it down."_

_And with that, Frein snapped her fingers and disappeared. Sure enough, ten or so minutes later, Frein reappeared with some pumpkin juice for Hermione. Hermione pushed a nearly empty plate towards Frein, who smiled widely at her. Frein laid the pumpkin juice down on the nightstand beside Hermione. "Here you are, Missus. Thank you." She beamed again, taking the empty plate and disappearing once more._

Hermione recounted the experience before deciding it was time to eat again. Hermione called out, "Frein?"

Almost immediately, the small elf appeared in front of her with a genuine grin on her face. "Hello, Missus," Frein began, "what can Frein do for Missus this afternoon?"

Hermione offered a small smile. "I'm starting to get hungry again, and I was wondering – "

Frein looked alarmed immediately and interrupted her, "Frein is sorrys, Missus! Frein didn't know – "

"Oh, no, no, no!" Hermione hurriedly exclaimed. "You've done nothing wrong, Frein. I was only wondering if I could come to the kitchens with you and have lunch with you."

Frein's eyes glittered happily at the thought, but apparently she'd thought the better of it. Her ears fell, along with her expression. "Frein doesn't thinks that's a good idea, Missus." Frein folded her hands behind her back and looked down.

Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion. "Well, Frein, I would like to have a late lunch with you. If you've already eaten – "

"No, Missus. It is not that Frein is not hungry. Master wouldn't like that very much." Hermione couldn't see Frein's face from this angle, but she was sure that the elf was scared from the way she was trembling.  _Oh._ Hermione thought, understanding washing over her. Tom might have started to come around about muggles, but she was almost positive that he still felt as if house elves were beneath him. And, from the looks of Frein, he likely showed superiority in the form of torture. Hermione felt ill just thinking about it. Suddenly, a wave of determination overcame her, and she knelt down so that she was on the same level as Frein. She laid a comforting hand on Frein's shoulder and the elf looked up, shocked and confused.

"Listen to me, Frein." Hermione started, her tone serious, "He will not hurt you. I won't let him. So you're going to take me to the kitchens, and we are going to have a late lunch together. If you'd like to, that is. I will not allow him to harm you anymore. Do you understand?" As she neared the end of her small speech, her voice became softer and more comforting.

Frein gazed up at Hermione and shuffled nervously on her feet. "Yes, Missus. Frein would like that very much."

Hermione nodded once, and stood to her feet. "Now then!" she chimed, offering her hand to the smaller being. "Let's head down to the kitchens, shall we? I haven't been around the manor much since I arrived. I only know of a few rooms and of the entrance. This will be our own little adventure."

Frein seemed excited, and hurriedly took Hermione's hand. "Does Missus want to go there now, or would Missus like to walk there?"

Hermione thought for a moment on that. She knew that Frein could Apparate them there, and considered that that was her most common method of travel. But, she really hadn't gotten the chance to explore her new home much since she arrived, so she decided that she'd rather walk. After announcing this to Frein, they stalked off to the kitchens.

They exited the master bedroom and took an immediate left. As they walked through the halls of the grand home, Frein was quiet. Hermione wasn't quite sure why, but she didn't want to question her about it. She knew she was already pulling the small elf out of her comfort zone – asking her to have lunch with her and then asking to walk to the kitchens rather than Apparate.

After a few moments of walking, Hermione noticed a door ahead and to their right opening, murmurs coming from whoever was behind it. Frein immediately let go of Hermione's hand and crouched behind her in panic. Hermione took an instinctive protective stance, ready to –

"If it isn't Mrs. Riddle herself!" a high, shrill voice beamed, "Look, sissy. The great Hermione Granger - oh, I'm sorry,  _Riddle,_ has finally decided to grace us with her presence." Bellatrix Lestrange's voice crackled in an oddly humorous way, like a witch out of a story book.

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes as Bellatrix and Narcissa came into view. Narcissa looked Hermione up and down, her perfectly done blonde hair moving about as she did. An impassive expression on her face graced her features as she simply said, "Indeed," obviously unimpressed.

Bellatrix placed a hand on her hip as she fell into a mock curtsy, "My Lady. Is there anything we can do for you?" It was as she fell deep into the mock curtsy that she noticed the small house elf hiding behind Hermione, and she broke into manic laughter.

"It seems the answer would be no! Sissy, do you see this? The Mudblood is walking around with a house elf!" for some strange reason, this sent Bellatrix into several moments worth of manic laughter. Narcissa looked slightly amused, but not to the degree of her deranged sister. Hermione assumed that it was unusual for pureblood witches, or witches of 'high regard' to be kind to house elves. Good thing she didn't quite care what either of them thought of her.

Hermione's eyes darkened at being called a Mudblood, and her scar pulsated faintly. Her right hand discreetly found the hilt of her wand and she clutched onto it for dear life, afraid that if she didn't clutch onto something, she'd hex the witch in front of her into oblivion. Not that she didn't deserve it.

After Bellatrix finished laughing, she began circling the duo in front of her, "Oh, dear Hermione! You have so much to learn! Whatever shall the Dark Lord do with  _you_? Not even a  _Mudblood_ should sink to this level. Where, pray tell, might the two of you be going?"

Hermione opened her mouth to give off a smart retort, but Frein was quicker. "Mrs. Lestrange, Frein was just showing Missus to the kitchens. Missus wanted to see the kitchens and have lunch with Frein." Frein's voice shook with nerves, but Hermione had to admit that she was proud of how bold the elf was. Maybe she was rubbing off on her. Hermione smirked in Bellatrix's direction, who scowled in disgust.

"And just  _who_ told you that you were allowed to dine with those who reside in the manor?" Bellatrix questioned the elf, who was hiding behind Hermione again.

"I did, actually. Is that a problem?" Hermione spoke up. She was about damned tired of Bellatrix's blood purity bullshit. Her wand hand was twitching, just  _waiting_ for Bellatrix to give her just  _one_ good reason to –

Bellatrix laughed again, "Why yes, it is a problem. Wizards and witches, especially those married to dark lords, do not dine with lowly house elves. Even a  _Mudblood_ should know – "

Bellatrix didn't get to finish her sentence as a deep, velvety male voice angrily sounded from behind them all, " _Crucio!"_

Bellatrix fell to her knees, her body convulsing manically. Hermione's mouth opened wide in horror and her hands moved of their own accord to cover it as she turned to face the source of the curse, her husband.

Tom stood there, an angry sneer upon his face as he twisted his wand hand towards the manic witch in front of them. Narcissa was trying awfully hard to stay impassive, but Hermione could tell that the Malfoy wanted nothing more than to tell him to stop, or make him stop.

"Bellatrix," Tom addressed, his tone icy. "I believe I informed you of just exactly what would happen if you addressed her in that manner again. Are you so imprudent and idiotic that you cannot follow a simple instruction?" He seemed to be deepening the curse, but Hermione was frozen in shock. She couldn't believe he was a _ctually_ doing this under the guise of defending her. She dully noted that Frein wasn't behind her anymore when she noticed the absence of tiny hands around her legs. She probably went back to the kitchens. Hermione didn't blame her.

Finally, a sob broke out of Narcissa and Tom's eyes snapped up to the blonde woman for a fraction of a second. Bellatrix's pained yelps and howls were becoming too much to bear. Hermione was reminded, then, of her  _own_ screams of pain, brought by none other than the woman before her.

"Answer me!" he bellowed, leaning in slightly as he demanded a response from the witch underneath his wand.

Bellatrix didn't seem to hear him. Hermione wasn't sure she heard him either, or if she'd just imagined it. "Tom, stop." She heard herself whisper desperately. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out the screams echoing in the hall. Echoing in her head. Regardless of who she was or what she did, Bellatrix didn't deserve this.  _No one_ deserved this.

"What?" he hissed to her, and she could feel his stare burning holes in her. She knew that there would likely be some consequence for questioning him in front of his followers, but she couldn't stop herself. She had to make the screaming  _stop._ It was agonizing to her, like nails on a chalk board.

"I said stop!" she said more forcefully, and after a moment, he obliged her request.

Bellatrix was trying to catch her breath, trying to breath in deeply as her body convulsed with tremors on the floor. Narcissa had tears streaming down her face, but her face was still the perfect picture of impassivity.

Tom grabbed Hermione's arm roughly and pulled her backward a few feet. He glared down at her, his beautiful features turned ugly by the look on his face. "You do  _not_ interrupt me while I am dealing a punishment.  _Ever._  Do you understand?" he hissed quietly, though he was quite firm in his declaration.

Hermione started to nod in numb obedience, her mouth still agape in horror of what she'd just witnessed. But she thought better of it. She turned a glare back on him, "No, I do not understand. You cannot just go around torturing everyone who does something that you don't like!" she exclaimed, her arms following her voice as it raised with every word. By the end of it, she was yelling at him.

His grip on her arm tightened as he swiftly shoved her against the wall behind her. The tip of his wand was at her throat in a flash, but she wasn't frightened. He couldn't hurt her. Well, he could, but he would pay the price for it. "I will  _not_ tolerate your insolence. Why are you defending her? Isn't she the one that gave you  _this_?" he questioned, holding her arm up to inspect the cursed, ugly word drawn in angry script on her forearm. "You should want her to pay for this. You should – "

She leaned into the tip of his wand in a show of defiance. "Don't tell me what I should want. I don't want to hurt anybody. I don't – " She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince him. The corner of his mouth turned up in a small smirk.

"But, Hermione," he started, his tone back to silky and persuasive rather than angry and demanding. It was rather unnerving how he could just shuffle through emotions at the drop of a hat. "She  _hurt_ you. She killed some of those closest to you. Do you think  _I_ told her to do so?" he inquired, and Hermione nodded numbly, angry tears still running down her cheeks. He chuckled darkly as he lifted his thumb to wipe away her tears, "I did not order her to kill Sirius Black. I didn't order her to torture you or to mark your arm. She did it all of her own accord, because she enjoys hurting people. She likes hurting  _you._ " His lips were at her ear now, and his voice was seductive. Not in a sexual sense, no, this was something else. She almost felt compelled to… no. No, she couldn't. She wouldn't. She'd be no better than them if – if,

But she couldn't shake the feeling that he was  _right,_ even if she didn't want him to be. She was shaking her head furiously, at him, at herself, at the situation. She just wanted to have lunch with her house elf. She just wanted –

"No." her voice was less firm, but much shakier than before. She sighed heavily, trying to shake the small voice inside of her head that whispered,  _he's right he's right, let her suffer._ No matter who it was, torture was  _wrong._ Or was it?

"I – I," she was crying now, tears streaming down her face and her cheeks red in embarrassment. His hand came up to cup her face and she almost jolted at the contact. He looked into her eyes, eyebrows raised. Her face grew even hotter from the contact and she inwardly cursed herself for feeling this kind of heat in a moment like this.

"Regardless of how you feel, you are  _mine._ I will not permit you to be addressed in such a way." His voice was full of conviction then. He turned back to Bellatrix and as he did, his grip on her fell.

"Bellatrix." He addressed flatly, his tone sounding almost bored. She looked up at him with wide, beady eyes, still convulsing slightly from the torture. Her curls shook as she did. "When have you known me to be a man of empty threats?"

"Never, m'Lord." She said simply, as if it were just a fact of life. Hermione turned her head towards the scene and her eyes caught Narcissa's. Narcissa was staring at her with blunt contempt in her eyes, no longer hidden. But the Malfoy witch was the picture of a stone-faced woman, so why was she – why  _would_ she –

Hermione realized then that Narcissa  _wanted_ Hermione to know that she disliked her presence. That she was a nuisance to them. That she hated her.

And suddenly, Hermione found that she didn't care much. Why should she be concerned with the opinions of his lackeys? It was  _their_  fault that this happened, not hers. They didn't  _have_  to be here. With their blood purity nonsense, with their –

Hermione spoke then, her voice unwavering. "Listen to me." She pushed herself away from the wall behind her, and as she did, she pushed into something else. Something almost altogether unfamiliar to her. She mentally pushed herself into a blinding rage, one that she was having trouble controlling.

Before she knew what she was doing, she leaned down on her knees so that she could look into Bellatrix's eyes. "If you call me a mudblood again, if I even see you look at me with the slightest bit of disdain in your eyes, I will make you pay. I should've made you pay the moment I laid eyes on you when I first entered this manor. You will regret it. You will regret  _this._ " She pulled up her sleeve to show her mark. The lettering that called her a mudblood. The –

Bellatrix's eyes glinted for just a moment in glee, and it was then that she snapped.

Hermione grabbed Bellatrix so roughly by her hair that the woman winced and whimpered. "Maybe I ought to do it now." She said in a low, dark voice, "Maybe I ought to do something to you that will give me the sheer  _glee_ you feel when you see what you did." She was speaking so low that she almost didn't hear herself. She was speaking to herself more than anyone else, really. She was contemplating, calm as ever.

Tom was quiet behind her, and she subconsciously knew he had to have some sort of sick satisfaction watching this. But for once, she found that she didn't quite care. She let go of Bellatrix's hair and stood on her feet, ready to address the blonde woman before her, who was still staring at her, anger and disgust coloring her eyes.

"And you," she said, her right hand holding the hilt of her wand. She raised it slowly to the chest of the woman before her, but Narcissa did not back down. "I see the way you look at me. But let me be the one to remind you that your family got yourselves into this. Your blood purity nonsense got you into this. Any consequences you reap are yours because of the choice you've made and the ridiculous rhetoric you believe in." Narcissa's lip curled over her teeth, and Hermione knew she'd struck a nerve. Her hand twitched with the want to curse the woman, but she restrained herself. There was no use for that now.

"I have one request of both of you." she looked down at Bellatrix to assure that she knew she was addressing her as well. The black-haired woman looked up at her with something unknown to Hermione –  _fear._ Hermione had never been feared before. Normally, the notion would disgust her, but she found that she relished in it, here. It strengthened her resolve to ground out a threat through clenched teeth, "Keep your inbred asses away from me. And if you must be near me, don't look in my direction. Take that order as you would from your Master, or else I will make you regret it." She backed away after her declaration, her magic humming in want. Her magic didn't feel altogether like her own, there was something else there… something more sinister.  _Tom's magic._ She realized. But she hadn't call upon it, had she? No – he was  _lending it to her._ He wanted her to act more like him in this moment. He  _wanted_ this –

"Stay away." She said one last time, and she began to run hurriedly back to her quarters. As she ran, she became distinctly aware of the fact that his magic was falling away from her - fading. As it did, she grew more and more disgusted with herself.

She was no better than him. He wanted her to know that, and he was relishing in it. She didn't have to see him to know that.  _She was no better than him._

* * *

 

After Hermione rushed away from the hall, Tom looked to Narcissa. "Take your sister and help her pull herself together. Take your Lady's order as mine, unless I give you a contradictory order. Leave." Narcissa schooled her features, nodding once. She held her hand out to her sister, who snatched it quite angrily. It was rather obvious that the mad woman's pride had been severely hurt.

"And Bellatrix?" he said, his voice light and airy as if he were about to tell a joke. As the crazed woman stood, she looked to her Lord. "Yes, m'Lord?" any trace of anger was quickly wiped away from her sharp features as she faced him.

"Don't let there be a next time. I will ensure that she damn near kills you if there is ever an event similar to this one." He looked at her pointedly, a smirk gracing his lips. He couldn't help himself. This had turned out to be much easier than he'd initially thought. His magic influenced Hermione to act similarly to him, though not totally. He would have to work his way through that little kink in their bond. This was just the beginning.

Bellatrix nodded once in affirmation, her voice quivering slightly as she said, "Yes, m'Lord." And with that, Bellatrix limped through the threshold of the door to their family's quarters with an arm around her sister's shoulders. The door squeaked shut behind them.

Tom sighed gleefully, turning around to head back to his drawing room. He was grateful for this bond, truly. Without it, he may not have been alerted to Hermione's feeling of upcoming conflict, and he wouldn't have arrived when he did, perhaps not at all. That would've been a shame.

He knew that he had a limited amount of time before she began figuring out his plan—his game. So he had to utilize that time efficiently, and this little encounter sped up the process. He'd almost sprinted through the halls until he reached the corridor where he'd sensed her signature.

Hermione had potential, but he knew she needed to be pushed in the right direction. With the power he now held over her, he could capitalize on this opportunity to the greatest degree. The consummation did several things: the first being that it allowed them to both act like themselves again. The magical and sexual tension that had begun building between them from their first meeting made them both susceptible to the other's feelings, personality and character. It was greatly frustrating for him, but he found that he could easily combat that. Hermione was less attuned to the ins and outs of their bond than he was because she'd been ignorant to it before he enlightened her. He'd had months to prepare, and therefore, months to conduct research before he'd approached her. But he knew it was just a matter of time before she figured some of the more sinister and, for him, more agreeable intricacies of their bond. The book he'd led her to wouldn't tell her  _everything,_ but it would give her hints, just like it had him, and she would eventually figure it out. For the time being, he would work on molding her into what he needed her to be. If he could use his magic to convince her to act cruelly towards her enemies, he could eventually convince her to act cruelly upon his will.

Another thing their consummation accomplished was completing their bond. Now that their bond was complete, he would be able to lend her his magic of his own accord, and visa versa. Before, they were both able to pull on the other's magic themselves, but now, they could willingly give magic to one another. His magic was much more dark and vengeful, and as such, when she tapped into his magic,  _she_ would become more dark and vengeful. He knew he'd have to be careful with this for a couple of reasons. One, she may become more dark and vengeful towards  _him_ once she figured out his plans, and he could not afford for that to happen. And two, once she figured out that it worked both ways, she may start pushing her much more peaceful and light magic on him. He wasn't sure if that would be so terrible, seeing as the entire point of an Inaversibilis bond was to bring balance to both parties involved, but he wasn't ready for that just yet. It may prove useful when he began inserting himself in the political realm, but for now, it was a useless idea that would do nothing but anger him. He  _hated_ feeling as if he was not in control, and he knew that his control over himself would slip slightly if she began pushing her magic onto him.

What he'd done just then was a combination of several of aspects of their bond. He'd used physical contact to his advantage. He'd manipulated the idea that neither mate would want to see the other hurt or angry, and used that to fuel his anger towards Bellatrix for calling Hermione a Mudblood yet again (along with the fact that Bellatrix had defied him under the guise that he wouldn't find out). He'd also manipulated Hermione into doing his biding because she didn't realize that, subconsciously, she didn't want to see him angry. Then, when he'd lent her his magic, his anger towards Bellatrix combined with her subdued anger at being called a Mudblood  _and_  her already heightened emotions after watching Bellatrix twitch and scream under his Crutiatus, she'd cracked. Not as much as he would've liked, considering that the witch had much more willpower than he'd initially given her credit for, but it was a start.

As he passed by the master suite, he slowed. He knew she was in there – he could sense her signature. He considered entering for a moment, but decided against it. He'd be merciful and give her time to mull over what just happened… for now. He wouldn't show mercy in that form much longer, but he was in a rather gleeful mood, so he would spare his wife of his gloating for now. He continued slowly down the hall, reaching the doors of his drawing room. As he did, he decided to pour himself a glass of aged firewhiskey as a congratulatory toast to himself.

He would break Hermione Granger, Hermione  _Riddle._

He smirked at the thought as he poured his drink, because he knew that this was just the beginning.

_Revenge would be sweet, indeed._

* * *

 

Hermione stood in the marble shower, scrubbing her skin nearly raw. Tears were still streaming down her face nearly an hour after the incident.

She hadn't hurt anyone, she told herself. She hadn't  _actually_ hurt anyone. She'd just threatened them. That wasn't as bad as actually hurting them, but it was enough. Enough to show her that she was changing and that she was becoming more like  _him._ She was disgusted with herself for her thoughts. The thought that Bellatrix, or anyone,  _deserved_ any of the terrifying events that had just taken place in front of her.

She shivered as she thought over her words to Narcissa earlier, something completely out of character for her. Normally, she was able to see both sides, however illogical one or both sides may be. But in that moment, all she could think about was how the blood purity narrative that Narcissa and Lucius drilled into their son, Draco, and what other pureblooded families told their children, made her feel ostracized through her school years. Hell, she'd even felt ostracized  _after_ Hogwarts, when she'd entered Ministry work. Her department dealt with muggles, and as such, most of the blood pedigree fanatics stayed as far away from her department as possible, but there were strays occasionally that made her blood boil, that made her subconsciously travel back to her days in Hogwarts, to her torturous hours in the Malfoy Mansion,  _mudblood mudblood mudblood._ She shook her head, trying to keep herself from reliving one of her worst memories… one of her worst  _nightmares._

Though, in another sense, she supposed she was grateful for the events that had transpired earlier in the day, she told herself as she continued scrubbing her skin with the rose scented body wash Frein had left in the bathroom for her. She was grateful because watching Bellatrix struggle under Tom's,  _Riddle's,_ Crutiatus curse had served as a reminder of just who she was dealing with. Although the thought terrified her, it also strengthened her resolve to bring the bastard down once and for all.

She hated him. She hated that he could make her snap. She hated that he would be so cruel as to put his own followers under the Crutiatus curse, under the facade that he was doing it for  _her,_ someone who hated him with every fiber of her being ( _no you don't,_ a small voice whispered inside of her head, which she desperately tried to shake away from her). She hated the way his touch made her jolt with want. She hated  _him._

But she didn't, and that made her hate for him even stronger. How  _dare_ he make her feel as if she was falling for him. How  _dare_  he think he had any right to do that to her, to violate her mind the way he had with visions and pictures of intimacy. How dare he make something inside of her coil with raw want by torturing someone she disliked very much, for  _her._

_No, I don't hate Tom._ She realized.  _I hate myself._

And with that, she fell to the shower floor in shaking sobs once again.

Because she didn't hate him. She wanted to, but she didn't. She hated herself for being so bloody  _stupid._ She hated herself for embarrassingly being turned on by his mere presence, and even more so when he stood up for her. She hated the look of heat in his eyes as he touched her face and told her she was  _his,_ and she hated her reaction to it. She hated herself, because she didn't truly mind when he called her his.

All of this, and they'd barely known each other for a couple of weeks. All of this, because of stupid  _Fate_ and a stupid bond and a stupid, stupid girl who – who,

She shook herself out of her thoughts again.  _No._ She told herself firmly.  _You can't fight it anymore, Hermione. You must act the part and you must use your feelings to your advantage, or else he will see right through your plans. You must give in._ She addressed herself with determination, but she couldn't help feeling a little mad. She couldn't help feeling like she was jumping much too quickly from hating him, to hating herself, to resigning to her feelings for him. She knew she didn't love him ( _yet, a_  small voice told her, and it echoed through her mind endlessly,  _you don't love him **yet**_ ), but she knew enough about Inaversibilis soulmates to know that it was only a matter of time.

It was only a matter of time before she, just like Alice, fell down the rabbit hole.

Except, this rabbit hole wasn't a strange, fascinating world called Wonderland with an obvious villain and an obvious heroine. This was a rabbit hole much more complicated than that. She wasn't sure she was the hero of this story, of any story.

Except, she wasn't so sure that she would snap back to reality after she fell down this rabbit hole, like Alice had.

She was sure she'd live there, in that dark, gruel and complicated rabbit hole for the remainder of her days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've reposted this fic--and will repost the others as well. It should be noted that this fic is on HIATUS. I will update when I have the inspiration.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Giving In and Letting Go**

* * *

 

Later that evening, Tom stalked back to the master suite, intent on sleeping in his oversized bed tonight, unlike the past few nights.  
  
He’d deigned to give Hermione her space, and had been coming in late at night, when she was already fast asleep. He would stop and look at her for a few moments, absent mindedly admiring her beauty, his _sleeping beauty,_ before he would shake himself out of his disgustingly dotting thoughts and head to the bathroom to shower and change into suitable pajamas. Then he would exit the bathroom in his black flannel pajamas and transfigure one of the armchairs into a single bed. He hated sleeping in a full set of pajamas, but he didn’t want to make Hermione uncomfortable if she were to wake and see him naked. Although they’d been intimate with each other, he still wanted to give her space and a bit of time to acclimate. She had a full week off of work, after all, so a few days of solidarity for the both of them wouldn’t be terrible.

As he opened the door to his suite, he sighed in frustration at the sight of Hermione curled into a ball, sleeping in one of the two armchairs that decorated the front of the room. His eyes roamed to the coffee table in front of her. _The Theoretical Properties of Soulmates_ was open in front of her, yet again. He knew she’d been continuously studying the book via his house elf, Frein, who reported to him what the ‘Missus’ was doing when each meal was brought to her. He had no qualms about entering the house elf’s mind to verify her story (which he’d done a couple of times), so he was not too concerned about her lying to him. Aside from that, he knew she was too scared to lie, anyway.

He moved closer to Hermione, shaking her shoulder. “Hermione.” He said softly, trying to wake her. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake. Sighing again, he hoisted her up to move her to the bed. She still didn’t wake, but she had moved to curl against him, a small smile gracing her lips now. Before he placed her on the bed, he studied her. Her curls were freshly washed, but her eyes were puffy as if she’d been crying. His lips curled down at that. He hated it when people cried around him. It was a sign of weakness. But, with Hermione, he wasn’t sure that that was the reason it upset him.

That prospect frightened him, that he could be upset about someone crying for reasons other than disappointment in their show of weakness. Her lips were perfectly pink as usual, but the skin around her mouth was red, as if she’d placed her hands up against her face for a long while. She was wearing one of the nightgowns he’d had Narcissa Malfoy pick out for her, a thin, teal spaghetti strapped silk gown that didn’t quite reach her knees.  
  
His eyebrows furrowed. The past few nights, she’d been wearing pajamas similar to his, flannels of different colors. He wondered why she decided to change that, suddenly. “Hermione,” he tried again, but his voice came out as a whisper. She stirred, an amber brown eye opening slightly to peak up at him. “Hmm.” She hummed quietly, and curled up further inside the crook of his arm.  
  
A look of slight confusion on his face, he gently laid her down on the bed, not bothering to cover her up. He was _not_ going to tuck in a grown woman.

 _But she might get cold…_ A voice in the back of his head reminded him, and he sneered at the thought. _I will not tuck in a grown woman._ He reinforced it to himself, and he turned to the bathroom to change his clothes.

As he shed his rather luxurious robes and began to reach for another flannel pajama set, he stopped himself. If she was going to start wearing more revealing clothing to bed, so would he. He left his briefs on and opted for a cotton white t-shirt. He brushed his teeth quickly, pondering events for the day to follow.  
  
When he left the bathroom, he saw a wide-eyed Hermione staring at him from the bed.  
  
He cleared his throat, “You’re awake.” He felt his groin twitch at the sight of her. Her curls were splayed perfectly over her shoulders, reaching just below her breasts. Her mouth was opened slightly as if she were going to say something, but decided not to. Her legs were bare, and her gown had ridden up enough that he was getting a clear shot of her cotton white knickers. He steeled himself and looked into her eyes, determined not to invade her privacy without her wishing it to be so.  
  
“I—I got cold.” She murmured quietly, almost as if she’d read his thoughts earlier.  
  
He cursed himself silently for not listening to that voice inside of his head.  
  
“Well, I’m sleeping in the bed tonight. You’re free to move if that makes you uncomfortable.” He announced lightly, and he rounded the corner of the large bed, laying down on his back.

Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion, “You haven’t been sleeping here?”

He cleared his throat again, “I’ve been sleeping in the armchair. I mean, I’ve been transfiguring it into a bed. You’ve been asleep each time I’ve entered the room at night, so I haven’t slept here because I don’t want to make you… uncomfortable.” He ran a hand through his thick, raven colored hair. How he’d missed having hair.  
  
“Tom,” she started, turning towards him with an amused smirk on her face, “This is your home. You are free to sleep in your own bed if you’d like.” With that, she shuffled around until she was settled under the covers, a pillow placed neatly under her head as she turned away from him.  
  
It was silent for a long moment, and he’d thought she’d fallen asleep. Suddenly, she turned over and inquired quietly, so quietly it was almost a whisper, “Why?”  
  
“Why what?” he inquired just as quietly.  
  
“Why did you… what was it that made you truly want to torture Bellatrix? Why do you _like_ hurting people?” she asked, and he felt his face growing hot at yet another uncomfortable inquiry of hers. As for her, she couldn’t help but wonder, and thought it best to ask. As much as she wanted to hate him, the logical side of her knew that he didn’t do anything without reason. She also was curious about the innerworkings of the mind of Tom Riddle, ne Lord Voldemort. After all, if she could get him to reveal some of his reasoning for certain actions of his, it might help her later.  
  
“I told you before why I did it.” He murmured, an irritated expression on his face as if she was inconveniencing him with the most obvious questions in the world. “She called you a mudblood. And while you may be a muggleborn, you are a much more competent and powerful witch than any pureblooded witch I have ever met, so I will not permit you to be called such a name in my presence or otherwise. Now, instead of fishing for compliments, why don’t you just—”  
  
She hurriedly interrupted him, face red with embarrassment, “I wasn’t fishing for compliments, you prat! I merely wonder why in the world you’d torture a loyal follower for stating a fact.” She was sitting up now, looking irritated.  
  
Tom sighed. One of the annoying things about being back in a purely human body again was that he was very prone to human needs, such as sleep. And now, he was too tired for this. He would give her a pass on the name calling for the moment. “I tortured her because she disobeyed a direct order from me. Her arrogance cannot be tolerated. And it is _not_ a fact. Now I’ve no idea whether or not you plan to get any sleep tonight, but _I_ do. Goodnight, Hermione.”

“Well I’m sorry Tom, I didn’t plan on _threatening_ anyone so thoroughly today, but we don’t always get what we—"  
  
He silenced her then with a crushing kiss that she was almost sure would bruise her lips. The top half of his body was over her, with one hand on her cheek and one on her waist. She couldn’t help herself as she ran a hand through his hair and circled her other around his torso. She deepened the kiss as her tongue darted into his mouth, searching for his. They stayed like that for what seemed like quite a while, but after he pulled away from her, it seemed like it didn’t last nearly long enough.  
  
“Now,” he breathed through his panting, “can we go to sleep?”

A murderous expression was upon her face as she raised her hand and slapped him, _hard,_ across his cheek. How dare he kiss her to silence her? Just who did he think he was? But these thoughts quickly faded, and regret coursed through her as his face flickered through several different emotions—surprise, anger, annoyance, and rage, in a flash of a second. He hissed in pain and sat upward quickly, raising a hand to his red cheek.  
  
Just as he started to retaliate, to tell her that she would indeed pay for her action, she was thrown back on the bed by an unseen force. Likely not a force at all, but the pain shuddering through her for attempted to harm her mate. She groaned at the feeling of it, thankful that it wasn’t nearly as harsh as it was the last time. Her pain must have been relevant to his, then.

“Are you quite done hurting us both? I’d like to get some sleep.” Tom said quietly, his eyes boring into hers with a ridiculously terrifying glare.  
  
Hermione immediately recoiled at the sight of him, staring at her as if he wanted nothing more in that moment than to kill her, watch the light fade from her eyes. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was almost positive that that was how he felt in this moment. She was terrified, the fact that he couldn’t, or likely, wouldn’t hurt her long forgotten in his mind as she imagined him cursing her like crazy.  
  
She scrambled away from him suddenly, damn near falling off of the bed. “I—I think I’ll just sleep elsewhere tonight.” She nodded, more to herself than him as she declared this, convincing herself that this was the best idea. He was still sitting up in the bed, glaring at her darkly, holding his cheek with one hand.  
  
Hermione inwardly smacked herself. _Why_ was she acting so irrational and downright stupid? She got to her feet, backing against the wall. “I—uhm, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have tried to shut me up with a kiss. It’s rather demeaning…a bit—ah, sexist, you know. I’ll—I’ll just be going now.”  
  
Tom stood to his feet then, and Hermione found that her heart rate was increasing at an exceedingly alarming rate. _What have I done what have I done what have I done?_ She shut her eyes again, just as she’d done in the corridor earlier that day, ready to accept whatever Fate handed to her. If the events earlier in the day were any indication of what was to come, it was certainly looking bleak for her. She didn’t want to face it, so she didn’t dare open her eyes when she heard the shuffling of his feet stop abruptly. She was almost positive that he was standing right in front of her now, but she didn’t want to open her eyes.  
  
“Hermione, look at me.”  
  
She heard his voice, but it sounded so distant. She knew he was close to her, dangerously close to her, but she didn’t know how close anymore. It was as if she had retreated into the very center of her mind, figuring that the alternative—the perimeter, was too dangerous for her now. She didn’t want to look at him. She’d seen the look on his face before she’d shut her eyes. He hadn’t even been that angry with Bellatrix earlier. _Because he very likely planned the whole thing._ She thought numbly, leaning further into the wall as if it would swallow her whole and save her from this situation.  
  
“Hermione. Look. At. Me.” Each word was said bluntly as if it were its own sentence, in a soft but dangerous tone. His voice had gone from distant to right beside her left ear. She could feel his breathing recede from her ear as he pulled back from her. She dully noted that his breath smelled like spearmint.

She opened her eyes in eventual obedience. He was barely an inch from her, so close that she couldn’t make out his features or look at him properly like he’d requested. His mouth parted slightly, and he licked his lips. She wondered if he was going to kiss her or kill her somehow. She knew that _she_ hadn’t found a way around that rule, but if anyone could, surely it was him. He didn’t do either of those things, instead raising both of his arms to rest on either side of her head, effectively pinning her in place.  
  
She gulped, hoping it wasn’t audible. He was trying to intimidate her, then. It was working. Sure, she was a Gryffindor, but Hermione also had quite the knack for self-preservation. Not that anyone would ever know, of course, considering she’d just slapped the bloody Dark Lord for kissing her.  
  
He leaned in closer, closer, closer – until eventually their noses were mere centimeters apart. Suddenly, his mouth moved to her ear. He said nothing, and the silence was paining her, but it was also breaking her out of her irrational fear. He wouldn’t hurt her. She knew he wouldn’t because he wouldn’t risk the pain. Armed with this information, she pushed against his chest, but he didn’t move.  
  
“Ah-ah, Hermione.” He chuckled into her ear, “Not yet. Look at me, dear.”  
  
One of his hands had moved to her shoulder, his fingers lightly dancing over the exposed skin there. She shivered, leaning into his touch and therefore leaning into him and away from the wall. Her hands, which had been fighting against his chest, stilled.  
  
“I will not ask again. Look at me, Hermione!” his voice was quiet but demanding. She obeyed him finally, leaning away from him to look him in the eye. When he was sure she could see him, the hand that was dancing over her shoulder was suddenly at the base of her neck. His fingers wrapped around her delicate throat and she was, once again, scared. Strangely aroused by his earlier action of kissing her, despite her want to protest because she found it rather demeaning, but scared now that he held her neck in his hand.  
  
“Don’t you _ever_ raise a hand to me again. There shall be terrible consequences if you do.” Just as quickly as his hand had wrapped around her neck, his hand disappeared. He did not move an inch, though.  
  
Hermione cleared her throat, nodding at him. “I… that was wrong of me, Tom. I’m sorry.” Her own voice sounded distant. “I think I should like to go to bed now.”  
  
Tom said nothing for a long moment, then nodded, a mischievous smirk playing at the corner of his lips. She briefly wondered why he was giving her this odd look, but in her eagerness to get away from him and to the safety and comfort of her gaudy bed, she didn’t ponder on it for long.   
  
Hermione made to move around him to make her way to the bed, but he caught her waist with his hands. She stopped abruptly, relishing in the way his body heat radiated off of him and warmed her in a more than pleasant manner. She suddenly realized that she was too tired to fight it—her magic. She didn’t _want_ to fight it. She really wasn’t physically exhausted, but she was mentally exhausted. She was tired of fighting this. She huffed before she decided to lean into his touch again. “I—What do _you_ wish to do, Tom?”  
  
She felt the ghost of a smirk grace his lips as he lowered his mouth down to her shoulder, pressing a light kiss there as both of his hands circled her hips.  
  
“Why, Hermione, I have nothing but the purest of intentions. I merely wish to go to bed.”

 

“Then why won’t you let go of me?”

  
  
“I would like to take my wife to bed with me. If you’re willing, of course.” As the sentence left his mouth, she finally understood why he’d given her that smirk just a moment ago.  She found herself surprised at how quickly he could shuffle between different emotions, yet again. He’d gone from tired, to angry, to livid and absolutely murderous, to… sensual? She wasn’t sure how to categorize it, not wanting to use lewd expressions even inside the safety of her mind.  
  
“Now, dear,” she inwardly shuddered at the use of an affectionate pet name on his lips, “you don’t have to worry about _me_ judging you for any lewd expressions you see fit for the situation. I simply don’t have it in me to judge my _wife_ for wanting to participate in… more nefarious activities with her husband.”  
  
This statement brought her courage and inner Gryffindor back out, and she rolled her eyes. “What makes you think I—” she gasped before she could finish the sentence. She hadn’t said anything about lewd expressions out loud, had she? _No._ She told herself firmly, feeling herself grow more and more nervous about the implications of her assertion.  
  
“Don’t fight it, Hermione.” He purred, his grip on her waist tightening as he began pulling her away from the wall and towards the bed. The feeling of his skin on her skin was sending a sort of electric signal straight to her core, causing her to blush. She’d never in her life experienced a physical connection so strong that a simple touch from someone made her feel lust for them. But here she was.

Experiencing it with none other than _Lord Voldemort_ himself.  
  
She wanted to stop her inner monologue, but she found that she couldn’t. She was having a hard time giving into her feelings and physical desires, even though she knew that that was precisely what she needed to do. The guilt made it too hard for her, especially when he was as close to her as he was right now. Her magic was trying to coerce her to listen to him, _don’t fight it don’t fight it don’t fight it,_ she heard in the back of her head, a mere echo of the sentiments of her subconscious.  
  
_Don’t fight it._ She resolved, and allowed him to lay her down on her back more gently than she’d expected. He hovered over her, his expression dark with lust. She wanted this just as badly as he did, she just couldn’t bring herself to admit it. There was something scary about admitting that you enjoyed fucking the Dark Lord.  
  
He tilted his head to the side, seeming to sense the war going on within her brain. He leaned over her, his mouth hovering above her ear as he whispered, “You think too much.” Then, he placed a soft kiss just below her ear, making her shudder with pure, unadulterated want.

Her magic was intertwining with his, ready to dance together again as their counterparts became intimate with one another. She huffed loudly, wrapping her arms around his neck, resolving to riddle herself with guilt later. Before another thought could cross her mind, Tom was whispering to her again. “You’ve been rather naughty today, Hermione.”  
  
She shivered, his kisses moving down to her neck, his right hand ghosting over her collarbone and his left gripping the fabric of her gown, roughly pushing it away. As his peppered kisses moved lower, her tremors became more noticeable and she felt him smirk on her skin before he abruptly stopped. She looked down at him, a glare on her face, a silent request for an explanation beginning to swirl across her expression.

“Tell me what you want, Hermione.”

Hermione huffed loudly, “Tom, can we just go _one_ day without—”

“If you are to be my Dark Lady—” _she shivered at the thought of the implication behind those words,_ “—then you must be willing to speak your mind. How silly of me to assume that a Gryffindor would be scared to—”

“I want you to _fuck_ me, Tom.” Her voice was unwavering and although the words surprised her, they seemed to please him.

His smirk grew as he stared up at her, “My, my, it seems you _do_ know what you want.” He ripped her knickers away and shoved her nightgown towards her midriff unceremoniously.

Hermione shuddered again, feeling a hot _need_ pool in her stomach, knowing that she must’ve been—

“You’re wet for me, although I’ve done nearly nothing to warrant it. How does that make you feel, Hermione, hmm? You’re soaked for the _Dark Lord_.” His dirty whispers lingered in her mind as his briefs and cotton shirt were removed instantly, quicker than she thought possible and then he pushed inside of her, causing a moan to escape her mouth.

“Ah—” she couldn’t hold her need in anymore. “Please— _please_ Tom,”

“Please _what_?” his hips moved at a faster pace now, and as his movements quickened, they became harder. He’d begun to rub her nub with his thumb as he fucked her mercilessly, and she couldn’t contain her soft noises anymore. She was moaning loudly in ecstasy now, as he pushed deeper, deeper, hitting that _spot_ of hers that he seemed to know so well after such little intimate time together.

“I don’t—” she wasn’t able to finish her sentence, answer his question as he continuously pleasured her by simultaneously nudging her spot with his member and rubbing her nub with his thumb.

“ _What_ do you want, Hermione?” his voice was breathy and hoarse as the words left his mouth huskily, alerting her to the fact that he was going to lose control soon himself. The _way_ he was speaking to her just made the feeling of aroused intoxication more intense, and she wanted to answer him—she truly did—

“Just—please,” she began heatedly, a loud, wanton moan escaping her lips before she could continue, “do what you want with me, just make me—”

As Tom heard her plea, he began thrusting into her even harder than before, quicker, peppering kisses along her face before he finally made way to her lips, both of his hands on either side of her head. She was moaning loudly into his mouth throughout their kisses, pushing him—making him—

They each shattered in dark bliss at the same time, Hermione with a loud groan of pleasure as went limp on the bed, and Tom with a grunt of dazed, sexual fury as he pumped into her once more, his seed exploding into her and her walls contracting around him. He collapsed on top of her immediately after, both sweaty and tired, panting heavily. “That—” Hermione began, her voice still hoarse from her loud yells, moans and screams of his name—

“ _That,”_ Tom started, not nearly as out of breath as she was, “is what happens when you allow _me_ to take control, Hermione.”

Hermione barely registered his words, a sleepy sensation overcoming her. She felt the unavoidable guilt begin to build, but she quickly pushed it away. She didn’t want to care—she didn’t want to feel bad for having sex with her husband, no matter who he was. No matter what he’d done. Not… not now. He rolled over to the side, allowing her to snuggle into his chest.

He wrapped one arm around her, almost awkwardly—as he wasn’t used to this… _cuddling_ business. “Goodnight, my dear,” he whispered into her ear, kissing her forehead lightly. She murmured something incoherent back before sleep took it’s hold on her.

  

* * *

 

                                                                               
Bellatrix Lestrange had never had much of a liking for Horace Slughorn. She didn’t have a good experience with him in her time at Hogwarts, and she hadn’t liked him since. He was too grey—always in the middle. Never picking a side, always staying neutral as to maintain his image. His reputation. She scoffed at the thought. She didn’t quite care for blood traitors, Mudbloods or even halfbloods really, but she could silently respect someone who stuck to their goals and beliefs. She’d resigned to that after the traitorous Snape was revealed to be on the other side.  
  
It hadn’t happened before he’d died, of course. It was reported on in the Daily Prophet in a section detailing an interview with an ‘exclusive Order member’, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt. A blood traitor on the other side of the war. She’d told them all about Severus, the lot of them. She’d told her Sissy that she thought the Dark Lord was mistaken with his trust in Severus, and she’d been correct. Fence sitters, as she liked to call them, were disgraceful. Cowards, fighting for neither side and both at the same time. It was all a bit too complicated for her, so she’d settled on the saying “all in or all out.” Yes, that was the way she felt. Of course, her ridiculously inept husband hadn’t caught on to the fact that that particular sentiment of hers extended into other, more intimate areas… but now was not the time for such thoughts.  
  
She hadn’t expected to be given a mission—let alone an extremely vital and important one, so soon after being punished. Punished for calling the Granger girl what she was, a _Mudblood._

 _Now now, Bella._ She scolded herself, _the Dark Lord deems her worthy. She is serving a great purpose to him. In fact, if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have rose from the dead again._ She tried to soothe herself as she walked, eager to school her thoughts in such a way that she could serve her Lord to the best of her abilities. After all, the girl would be living in the manor, so she was sure that she’d be seeing much more of her. The girl had asserted herself bravely earlier, and then unraveled it all by running away.  
  
No matter. Bella would be certain to follow the Dark Lord’s order, and, consequently, _her_ order, to maintain her place in the ranks. She knew the girl—Hermione—possessed great skill, no doubt stolen from a more deserving Pureblood child, but no matter. She would give a bit of respect where it was due, especially with the knowledge that the girl would prove useful in the Dark Lord’s ascent. She only wished the ascent that was being planned was a bit more violent, but, the Dark Lord knew best. When she’d asked, he’d told her that it didn’t work before, and it was time for a new approach. She was all for it so long as she got to carry out some of the more gruesome tasks, like the one she was about to carry out.  
  
She rounded the corner to the home of the man she was paying a visit to, under a Disillusion Charm, of course. She couldn’t be foolish, he’d told her. She would be sure to carry out the deed in a quick manner. Much as she’d like to spend some time torturing the old fool, she knew it wasn’t what was expected of her. He’d surely sift through her mind when she reported back to him, to assure that she’d done exactly what he’d asked. And, hopefully, he would be pleased with her. All she wanted was to please the Dark Lord.

Soft grass crunched beneath her feet quietly as she approached the modest home. Efficient for an old man like Sluggy, but far too muggle like for her liking. The home was small and made of deep red brick, on the outskirts of a small wizarding district close to the school. The houses were relatively far apart, and as such, she wasn’t worried about casting a silencing charm over herself. Unfortunately, this had to be quick, so the neighbors wouldn’t hear the shrill screams of torture that she loved oh so much.

  
She raised her wand to inspect the wards on the house as she approached, carefully taking them down one by one. If she did it too quickly, he’d know someone was here. When she was sure she’d removed the privacy and protection wards over the home, she pointed her wand to the doorknob of the home. It opened quietly for her, and she finally cast a silencing charm before she’d stepped in.  
  
As she stepped into the home, she took her time looking around, wondering where the old fool was. The wood floors would’ve surely creaked under her feet without the silencing charm. She came to stand in front of the sitting room, where she noticed Slughorn’s round belly poking out from the side of the armchair he laid in. He was snoring softly, and her wand hand twitched with the need to cast the Crutiatus Curse.  
  
Torturing people while they were sleeping was such fun. They’d jolt awake, eyes wide with fear as they drunk in your dark presence looming over them, wand in hand, blindingly red light beaming from your wand. Oh, the thought made her positively giddy! But now wasn’t the time for such thoughts.  
  
She approached him cautiously, and as she crept up on his sleeping form, she saw the _Daily Prophet_ sprawled out in her lap.

_THE BRIGHTEST WITCH OF HER AGE TAKES ON NEW NAME AFTER WHIRLWIND ROMANCE LEADS TO MARRIAGE_

She skimmed through the short article, and sure enough, the name Tom Riddle was printed in black ink on the second or third sentence. So, Sluggy had indeed found out, as the Dark Lord predicted he would. He’d also said that Slughorn wouldn’t risk telling anyone for fear of this exact situation. You know, him dying and all.  
  
He was one of three people who knew of that name, two of them obliviated by the girl. Slughorn, according to the Dark Lord, was certainly expendable since he refused to swear fealty to him during the past two wars. The Potter boy and his wife were to be spared, for he feared that if they were killed, the girl would slip even further from him. As much as she’d _love_ to exact revenge, her need to impress and please her Lord outweighed her want for revenge. They’d get their revenge, he’d promised. He’d said that this was much better than killing Potter, and if his plan went accordingly (of course it would! The Dark Lord was much too intelligent for it _not_ to go as planned), it certainly would be _much_ better.  
  
No, the Potions teacher’s heart would simply stop beating. It was a modified version of the resuscitation spell, tricking the heart to keep it from beating instead of forcing it to beat once more. The Dark Lord’s own invention. It wasn’t quite the same as the Killing Curse, working on more of a medical level than a magical one. She thought it was much too merciful of a death for a coward like ol’ Sluggy, but she would do as her Lord wished.  
  
She raised her wand with a cruel smile on her face as she chanted the incantation for the spell the Dark Lord had taught her for this task. She was to watch and make sure he was dead, and if, for some reason, her spell failed, she would have to result to more _unforgivable_ methods. Her subconscious longed for the opportunity, but she quickly shoved it aside. She must obey her Lord.

Within a matter of seconds, the Potions master’s chest had stopped heaving. Quickly, she performed a mediwitch spell that would allow her to check his pulse. The Dark Lord had taught her that, too, in preparation for this mission. She hadn’t a need for such a spell before, after all.  
  
After verifying that Horace Slughorn was in fact, dead, Bellatrix quickly Apparated away and back to the outskirts of Riddle Manor. She certainly didn’t want to be there when the Auror’s arrived.

No, she didn’t particular care for the Potions master, because he was, and had always been, a fence sitter. _Always_ in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was partially completed, so I had the inspiration to finish it and post it. There are likely some grammar, spelling and/or punctuation errors within, but aside from that, this is the last thing I've got before this fic goes on true Hiatus. I've reposted it to allow those of you who wanted to read this story to continue to be able to read until I begin posting regularly again. 
> 
> I'm not sure when I'll post again, it'll likely be sporadically as I am inspired, to be completely honest. Rest assured, this fic WILL NOT be abandoned. 
> 
> It is important to me, as it's part of at least two, maybe a three part series that I have outlined and planned out to some extent. I just really haven't felt inspired recently with the hell storm that my personal life has been over the last 6 months. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please do let me know your thoughts. Even thought his fic is on Hiatus, I am currently working on a new fic (with an Alpha! yay!) and will be active on AO3 from here on out. I will also be posted the completed "In This Moment" for those who missed that one (5 chapter, short fic that will be posted soon.) 
> 
> Thank you for reading and thank you for understanding my reasonings for Hiatus on this fic. I really appreciate the support I've gotten from people on tumblr. 
> 
> Speaking of tumblr, my tumblr name is mulbrst. You will likely see updates on whether or not I will update Seven Sentences there before you will anywhere else, so I would suggest giving me a follow or at least looking at it every now and again for updates. I still can't believe I'm at 60k words with 10 chapters... would you all rather me cut chapters shorter, or continue to post long chapters? Let me know in the comments. As said before, I will still be active and still will reply to comments. 
> 
> All my love and regards, 
> 
> mulbr


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise inspiration to update! Thanks to Beestung2025, I had some inspiration to write an update. It's shorter than the majority of the chapters of this fic--but it's something, and it moves the plot along quite smoothly in my opinion. Hope you enjoy!

 

 

**Chapter 11: Death is a Curious Thing**

* * *

 

 

Over the next month, Hermione had become strangely acclimated to her new home, Riddle Manor. She hated to admit that she didn’t miss her small apartment at all—and things were going well between her and Tom, all things considered. He allowed her to work as she wished, despite his obvious disdain for her job. They’d been intimate several times since their initial… consummation, as he’d called it. She hadn’t been in contact with any of his Death Eaters recently, and she was thankful for that.

The only thing that drew her suspicion, that she was _positive_ Tom had something to do with, was the death of Horace Slughorn. He was the only other living person who would remember Tom’s persona, and as such, she expected that Tom had him eliminated. It was perfectly inconspicuous, of course. The papers had declared that his heart had simply stopped beating. But she knew better.

 _More death_ , she thought, as she continued to work on a project about the initiation of the newly legislated idea of Squibs entering the muggle world at her desk. The Muggle Minister had taken her proposal quite well, and had agreed to it. He simply asked that the Squibs be sworn to secrecy on the presence of the magical world, which was certainly doable and practical. The issue was, Squibs couldn’t swear on their magic, as they had none. So they were each made to take an Unbreakable Vow with Shacklebolt, ensuring that they would not speak of the world they came from, lest they die.

That thought made Hermione shiver. But, she guessed she’d have to give a little to get something in return. Her job was all about compromise. Hell, her _life_ was all about compromise now.

She’d noticed herself attaining more and more Tom-like traits as time passed, and she wasn’t keen on it. It made her feel… uncomfortable—less like herself. She felt the urge to hex people at the slightest irritation, something that no doubt came from him. The difference was that she had the willpower not to act on it—whereas he assumingly did it just because he could.

She knew it was nearing the time for her to speak to Dumbledore’s portrait again, and she was frightened at the mere idea of it. It seemed Dumbledore wanted to manipulate her in a similar way to Tom, but that was rather… usual, for Dumbledore, she supposed. He always had a knack for manipulating people to get his way, even young children, as he’d done with Harry during his time at Hogwarts. Under the guise of _the greater good._ She snickered at the thought.

As she finished up her project, she flicked her wand towards her boss’s office, waiting for a stamp of approval on her eleven-page proposal to integrate the legislation into wizarding law. She sat bored for a few moments before she received a stamp of approval, along with a note:

            _Great work, Mrs. Riddle. Please take this to the Minister's office so he can sign off on it as well._

Hermione sighed happily, glad that her hard work was enough for the Director of Muggle Relations. She stood and began her trek towards the Minister’s office. She’d been told that she would likely become head of the department after her boss retired, and that idea excited her. It frightened her to an extent—considering her husband’s hatred for muggles, but that was besides the point.

As far as she was concerned, she held two jobs now. Gathering information for the Order, to pass along to Dumbledore’s portrait via her husband, and her job here at the Ministry. It was a lot to consider, but she’d put a lot of time and energy into truly _playing the part_ that Tom so desperately wanted her to play. It was only a matter of time before he was brought down again, and that prospect both excited and saddened her. Over the past month, her romantic feelings for him had only grown stronger due to their bond… and their frequent contact during the night hours.

She stopped in front of the door to the Minister’s office, showing the magical door her forms and asked to be admitted. The magical door smiled at her, “Sure, my dear. Let me just inform the Minister of your presence.”

A few moments later, the large door swung open, and Hermione was greeted by Kingsley Shacklebolt. “I see that you’ve finished your proposal,” he smiled at her from behind his desk, a sense of pride radiating off of him.

Hermione blushed, “Yes, Minister. My boss approved it and asked me to—”

“I know, I know. Hand it over. I’ll look over it while I take my lunch. I’ll send a note regarding my thoughts afterword. In the meantime, why don’t you discuss your proposal with Mr. Dumbledore? I’m sure he’d love to know the outcome of your initial idea that you spoke with him about a month ago.”

Hermione nodded once. “Sounds perfect.”

With that, Shacklebolt exited the room with her proposal in hand. In a sense, she felt bad for him. He had a lot to deal with right now, but he seemed to be acclimating just fine.

“Mrs. Riddle,” Professor Dumbledore greeted, eyes twinkling as usual.

“Professor,” Hermione replied, bowing her head slightly. She quickly cast a silencing charm around the room to keep other portraits and, most importantly, the door, from hearing their conversation.

Dumbledore sighed, “I’m afraid I’ve bad new, my dear.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed, “What is it?”

“My portrait at Hogwarts has been destroyed. Headmaster McGonagall investigated the incident to no avail. I presume that this portrait shall be next, so our plans must be thorough today, as you may very well be on your own after this.”

Hermione’s heart dropped to her stomach as she processed this information. _Alone. On your own. Alone alone alone—_

“He’s been… accommodating.” Hermione heard herself say as she twittled her thumbs, nervousness overtaking her. She looked up at the portrait, “He won’t tell me much in the way of his plans, though. I’ve tried to subtly ask about it, but he’s always changing the subject, keeping me from—”

Dumbledore held up a hand. “Nothing I didn’t expect from Tom, my dear. He likes to keep his… possessions, close, but not too close. I hope you do not take offense to my wording, but you must understand Tom’s train of thought when it comes to human beings. They are tools to him, you see. You are a tool to him.”

 _I’m a tool to you, too._ She thought begrudgingly, feeling her magic swirls slightly in anger.

“Professor… forgive me for asking, but what is the difference between what he’s doing to me and what you did to us throughout school?” her mouth moved before she could stop it, before her brain could fully register just what she was saying.

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed at this, leaning forward in his portrait. “You’ve already taken some of his traits as your own.”

This only served to anger Hermione even more, “No,” she retorted thinly, “I mean—well, yes, I have, but I held the belief that you use your students, your colleagues as pawns long before Riddle and I became… involved. You haven’t answered my question, professor. What’s the difference?” Hermione’s hands balled up into fists, hidden behind her back as she sat in the comfortable armchair. _Burn the portrait burn the portrait burn the portrait_ the phrase repeated in her mind and she tried to shove it away, but it wasn’t just Tom’s magic that wanted her to do it. She wanted it, too, and the thought disgusted her. But, she remembered Dumbledore _did_ use and dispose of people, just like Tom.

“Hermione, I will not entertain such foolish questions. You’ve left me no choice but to alert the Minister—”

“No,” Hermione said softly as she stood, wand raised. “ _You’ve_ left me no choice, professor. _Incendio._ ”

“You’ve no idea what you’re doing, girl!” the portrait shouted at her as it burned, “You’ll be no better than him if you continue down this path! Stop this at once! Hermione, listen—”

Professor Dumbledore didn’t get to finish his sentence before his portrait was reduced to ash.

Hermione sighed lightly, the implications of what she’d just done not fully hitting her yet. Something… something was blocking the anxiety from hitting her. The only thought coursing through her mind was that she needed to cover this up. She couldn’t be caught. The implications of that were… well, simply put, undesirable. And so, she cleaned up the ashes remaining from the burnt portrait and fixed the wall behind it. She readjusted the memories of the portraits and the magical door to match her cover story—a masked figure had come into the Ministers office after Hermione had left and burnt the portrait. Hermione had returned to talk to Dumbledore about something else, only to find his portrait gone. She had burst into hysterics, _wondering who could’ve done such a terrible thing_ , before sprinting out of the office to alert the Minister. That’s what they all believed.

It was, as Dumbledore would say, _for the greater good,_ after all.

 

* * *

 

 

The implications of her actions finally hit Hermione, right before the end of her shift. Shacklebolt had come by to comfort her, to let her know that it wasn’t her fault, that, at the very least, Dumbledore was truly at peace now. It did nothing to stop Hermione from hyperventilating, realizing she’d just left herself with no one to rely on, no one to trust. She had _no one,_ and it was her fault. Of course—her colleagues chalked her hysterics up to one of her favorite professors being gone for good. But she knew better. _She_ knew better, and she was disgusted with herself. Maybe… maybe she should just—

“Hermione?” Helen questioned softly, a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. The sudden contact made Hermione jolt, and she sniffled. “Yes, Helen?”

Helen smiled softly, pity clear in her eyes. “The boss says you can go home for the day. Maybe—maybe it would be best for you to be with your family, you know? Your husband, after such a terrible day. Gosh… I can’t—I’m sorry, Hermione. I truly am. I can’t imagine…” Helen trailed off as she helped Hermione up, pointing her wand towards Hermione’s desk and cleaning it up for her.

“I’ll walk you to the floo point,” Helen said simply, still holding Hermione in her arm, wand in the other to force doors open while comforting her friend. They were almost to their destination when Helen suddenly stopped.

Hermione stopped too, eyes wide with fear, but Helen couldn’t see her because she was positioned slightly in front of her. “Uh… Hermione?”

“Helen?” Hermione inquired, hoping to any deity that would listen that Helen hadn’t figured it out, that she hadn’t—

“Why didn’t you tell me you were expecting?”

Hermione jolting so severely that she literally jumped in surprise. “ _What?”_ she nearly hissed, turning to face Helen with a glare, “I’m _not_ pregnant, Helen. Where in Merlin’s name did you get that idea—”

Helen nodded her head towards a diagnostic spell she’d performed on Hermione—likely to check her blood pressure and heart rate before sending her home. It was small enough that onlookers wouldn’t be able to read it, thankfully, but sure enough, there it was— _5 weeks pregnant._

Hermione had to restrain herself from becoming physically sick, from hyperventilating all over again. Tom was right about one thing—she had to play the part in public. She had to act happy… happy about holding the _Dark Lord’s child in her womb—_

“You didn’t know?” Helen questioned, a concerned look on her face.

Hermione cleared her throat, hoarse from crying. “Ah—no, Helen, I didn’t. I’d appreciate if this stayed between us for now… I’ll—I’ll announce in my own time.”

Helen nodded once, a small smile gracing her lips. “Well, at least you can go home with _some_ good news today.”

“Thanks, Helen.” Hermione acknowledge, a faux, albeit small smile on her lips, as she had no idea what Tom’s reaction to this news would be. God, what if he, what if—

These thoughts rushed through her head as she floo’d home, not paying the slightest bit of attention to anything around her, _anyone_ around her, including Tom, who’d been waiting for her at the door. She trudged in the direction of the master suite, intent of showering and crying her eyes out in private. It was one thing to be bonded _and_ married to the Dark Lord. It was one thing to Obliviate your friends. It was one thing to burn up a portrait and cover it up—only to realize your grave mistake hours later. But this? She couldn’t—no. She—

“Hermione?” Tom’s voice was laced with light, genuine concern as he followed her to the master suite. “Did something happen at work? Are you oka—”

“I’m fine!” she snapped, a snarl sent in his direction. He noticed how mixed her emotions seemed to be, given the ragged state of her magic.

“Does it have anything to do with the portrait you burned today?”

Hermione froze at this. _He knew? How?_

“I told you, I have contacts at the Ministry. Not to worry, no one will blow your intricate cover story. Not when you’ve done such a great service for me, in the midst of your anger.”

Hermione cleared her throat but said nothing. She had to keep her pregnancy from Tom for as long as possible. She wasn’t sure if he would be able to tell—she was sure to start seeing symptoms soon enough, but—

“I’m going to shower. I’d like to take dinner in my room, if that’s alright,” Hermione’s voice was soft and hoarse, a sadness laced through it that Tom, thankfully, chalked up to her destroying the only remaining portrait of Dumbledore.

He nodded once, though he was sure she didn’t see him as she was turned in the other direction. “I’ll have Frein bring up two plates—”

“I’d like to be alone for a bit, Tom.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Hermione. Your friend Helen owled me, detailing how extreme your vitals were. Someone has to watch over you, and as your husband and mate, it is my duty to—”

Before he could finish, the bathroom door was slammed in his face. He sighed heavily, not able to help the genuine smile that crossed his face. There was _no one_ left who recognized him. Not a single soul, nor portrait, to recognize him. Hermione had made sure of that in a fit of rage—something he certainly hadn’t expected, but something he was surely happy with. _Revenge would be sweet, indeed._

 

* * *

 

 

As he sat in one of the two armchairs adorning their room, he heard the shower water begin to run, and decided to call Frein. She appeared immediately. “What can Frein dos for yous, Master Riddle?”

“Bring two plates of dinner, two glasses of water and two glasses of wine back for myself and your Mistress.” Frein nodded her head shakily. “Yes, Master Riddle.” As Frein ‘popped’ away, Tom noticed another noise aside from the shower. It made him furrow his brow. It sounded like… sobbing? Why in the world would Hermione be sobbing? Merlin, he knew she could be dramatic, but why sob like _that_ over a damned portrait?

He shook his head in disgust but couldn’t help the feeling of wanting to help her. It washed over him so overtly that the strange, unfamiliar feeling almost made him jump. Before he knew what he was doing, he opened the bathroom door. She didn’t seem to notice, as the curtain was pulled and the shower was rather loud. If she continued, her blood pressure would only rise. He couldn’t risk that. He pointed his wand at her and performed a short-length diagnostic spell on her. Her heart rate was accelerated, and her blood pressure was ridiculously high. He was about to mutter ‘finite’ when he noticed something near the bottom of the diagram… _5 weeks pregnant._

“Hermione!” he bellowed, canceling out the spell and wandlessly shoving the shower curtain aside. 

She glared up at him through watery, puffy eyes, “I told you I wanted to be left alone! Go away!” her voice was hoarse and harsh, nothing like the soft, almost, dare he say it, _sweet_ tone her voice naturally took on.

“Are you stupid?” he nearly hissed leaning in towards her. He vaguely registered shower water dribbling over his head, but he didn’t care. His witch, his _wife_ was sobbing on the shower floor over being pregnant. It was _pathetic._ “Your blood pressure is through the roof. Get up and stop crying; you look absolutely absurd. You’ll over exert yourself, and then who knows what will happen to the child.”

Hermione looked at him, wide, puffy brown eyes full of fear. “Tom—who, no, please don’t—I didn’t mean to—I thought—” Her words were so jumbled and hoarse that he could barely make them out. The only thing he knew for certain was that she was scared of his reaction to this news… this unexpected development.

Tom stopped the shower water, causing Hermione to glare at him. “Tom, I just want some space—”

“We need to talk about this,” he stated simply as he handed her a deep green towel, which she snatched out of his hand angrily.

“I’m not talking to you about anything, Tom! You—you don’t understand. I’ve—this is a mess! My… I’m angry at myself—I destroyed the last semblance of hope I had at keeping you from taking the wizarding world over _yet again!_ My only ally—the only person who could help me—I, I ruined it all. And then _this!”_ she gestured to her stomach, “On top of everything else! I’ve—I’m completely at the mercy of a deranged fool who—who—” Hermione stopped herself in her rage, realizing she’d just revealed _everything_ to Tom, who was smirking for some reason. Why was he smirking? She just told him she’d been plotting against him—she—she just ruined it all. And now he _knew._ He knew _everything._

But he was smirking a sly, but oh so fucking sexy smirk _she cursed herself inwardly for even thinking that way in a moment like this_ that told her he had already known. _He had already known._

“Tell me, Hermione,” Tom started, circling around her like a predator ready to pounce on his prey as she stood just outside of their shared shower, clad in nothing but her towel. She eyed the counter for her wand, her fingers twitching to just kill him and go down with the sinking ship. She wasn’t listening to him. She couldn’t—she’d blown her cover and now she had to just— “What all do you know about my Legilimency skills?”

Hermione gulped, thinking _accio wand!_ as forcefully as she possibly could without actually saying the words. Her wand immediately flew into her hand—something that did not go unnoticed by Tom, as she watched his eyes flicker to her wand hand.

“I know you’re the most accomplished Legilimens since Salazar himself.”

Tom chuckled darkly, waving his wand over her as he cast a drying spell. He slashed his wand downward and as he did, her towel fell to the floor.

Hermione blushed deeply at being so exposed—physically, mentally and emotionally, to the man who’d ruined her life. To the man who’d _known_ she was plotting against him—likely from the moment she’d gone to Dumbledore’s portrait in the first place.

“Now, now, no need to be embarrassed, Hermione.” He paused his circling to touch her cheek gently, sending a jolt straight to her core as she inwardly cursed herself for her involuntary reaction. “We’ve been intimate with each other many times over the past month, you realize. Nothing I haven’t seen or…” he stopped, his eyes roving over her bare form hungrily, lust filled eyes finally clashing with her wide, fearful brown ones, “enjoyed before.”

“What,” the tip of his wand came in contact with her collarbone, “to do,” now it was underneath her right ear, “with you?” He was behind her now, his wand tip pointed at the base of her skull.

“Tom,” she started shakily, “if—if you hurt me, you know—”

“I’m not going to harm you, Hermione. Not physically.” His voice was stern and genuine. It wasn’t reassuring in the least. “Get yourself dressed for bed and go sit.” He commanded, and she complied as her mind ran through the options she had left. She was completely at his mercy now. He knew _everything._ She was stuck. Dumbledore was gone. _She_ had single-handedly made sure of that.

She put on a short sleeve, silky jade colored night gown, not bothering to put undergarments on underneath. She was too tired. She was _so_ tired of fighting, of trying to outsmart him, when it turned out that he’d known _all along._ And she hadn’t even come up with a decent plan yet! Only two sessions in with Dumbledore and she’d ruined his portrait. He was gone. She was on her own. She was _at his mercy. The mercy of evil incarnate._

After she’d taken a seat in one of the two armchairs that adorned their room, Tom took the seat across from her, twirling his wand. “I can see in your mind whilst you sleep. I can make my presence so minor that you wouldn’t even know I was flicking through your memories— you see. Did you think I would trust your word—the _Vow,_ even, knowing how witty you can be? I’ve known about your conversations with Dumbledore since the night after we wed. I’ve said nothing because your conversations with him have no bearing on my plans, and a portrait of that old coot,” he spat, “did absolutely _nothing_ to alleviate the situation you’ve found yourself in. You are _mine_ now, and there is no one left to help you. _You_ did that to yourself, not that I wouldn’t have had his portrait destroyed soon, anyway. So I suggest you start complying with me, or the leverage that I have over you will start to outweigh your usefulness.” His voice was velvety but stern, not quite angry but most certainly commanding.

Hermione was shaking in fear—not fear that he would hurt her, but in fear of the situation she quite literally threw herself in. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t tell anyone about Tom. She was quite literally _stuck,_ and in a fit of rage, she’d made absolutely _sure_ of it. Then—then there was the fact that he was invading her mind while she was sleeping. She’d had no idea, as she wasn’t even _dreaming_ while she was sleeping anymore. That was quite unusual for her, but she’d chalked it up to the stress. Now she wondered if Tom had Frein slip her Dreamless Sleep Potion in her tea at night. Now she wondered, now she _wondered—_

Hermione cleared her throat. “What of the baby, Tom?” This was one topic she was sure neither of them wanted to discuss; she knew she certainly didn’t, but given the situation, it _had to_ be spoken of. She was pregnant with his child. The child of a man who was merciless, vile, cruel—

“The child is a splendid blessing bestowed upon us by Fate.”

Hermione’s head snapped up at this, startled by the conviction in his voice. Tom’s eyes weren’t as hard and cold as they usually were, they were more… grateful? A _genuine_ sort of grateful. She stared at him for a long while, waiting for an explanation that never came. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.

“Hermione, eat.”

She hadn’t noticed the food settling on the coffee table, but she complied, knowing that she really had no other choice. She was pregnant. She needed to protect this baby at all costs, as that seemed to be the _only_ thing she was able to do now, and that meant staying well fed.

Her eyes landed on the glass of wine set out for her, and with a wandless and wordless spell, she vanished it quickly. She took a few sips of her water, trying to calm herself, eating small bits of food to please Tom.

Tom finished his meal much more quickly than she did, and he’d retired to the loo, likely to shower and change himself.

She remained in the armchair, willing her tears away. Now that she knew she was pregnant, she realized that if she concentrated hard enough, she could discern her magic and the baby’s growing magic. She was only 5 weeks along, so the baby had very, very little magic, but she could easily tell the difference once she’d distinguished his or her magical signature from her own. She smiled softly. This baby was the only thing keeping her going. Otherwise—otherwise she might have just Avada’d Tom and taken herself out with him, if that ended up being necessary. But no, this baby… this baby changed things. Her child was her sole source of hope, of her will to continue living in this personalized hell.

Tom emerged from the bathroom with only a pair of black, silk boxers gracing his form.

Hermione remained in the armchair, earning her a glare from her husband. “Hermione,” his voice was soft, yet somewhat condescending, “think of the child. Lay in your bed and sleep.”

Hermione went to protest—only to realize he had a point. She wanted to remind him that she was only 5 weeks along and there wasn’t much she could do to comfort her child at this point—but she did as asked. She stood, walking slowly to her side of the bed. She didn’t bother to pull the duvet over her petite body. She curled inwardly into a ball, facing the wall.

She felt the weight of the bed shift slightly as Tom slipped under the silk duvet, likely laying on his back.

Time seemed to be passing so slowly, and Hermione wasn’t sure what to do, what to think, how to proceed. He knew _everything._ She had no leverage against him—unless—unless,

It took all of Hermione’s energy not to shoot out of bed and head to the bookshelf. She knew what she needed to do now. She would research in the morning while he was away. She’d been given the day off tomorrow, considering the events of the day, and Helen had sent an owl to Tom alerting him that she’d told their boss that Hermione had grown sick on their way to the floo point.

A small, soft voice broke her out of her thoughts, “May I?” the voice was hovering over her ear, Tom’s breath sending involuntary shivers through her spine.

“May you what?”

“I—I’d like to feel.”

Hermione understood what he meant and gave a minuet nod. He wouldn’t harm her, and if he harmed the baby that was living inside of her, that would mean harming her.

She felt his hand snake around her belly, resting there for a few moments. She felt him smirk against her shoulder and he pressed a light kiss there as he proclaimed, “You’re not very far along, but the child already has its own magical signature. That’s a blessing, Hermione. He or she will be powerful—”

“I’m sure,” she interrupted, turning to face him. Her voice became stern, “but you will _not_ use this child as a tool—as a—a weapon. This isn’t just your child, Tom. If I _ever_ have the slightest inclination that that becomes your intention regarding our child, I will not hesitate to take us both out.” She was glaring at him intensely, her motherly instincts kicking in earlier than they should have. But she was sure that was because of his nature, and she knew him.

He said nothing to her, his lips a thin line and a blank, emotionless stare sent her way.

Suddenly, she heard him begin to hiss. _My child, you are appreciated more than you know already. You shall be a great asset you both your mother and I._

She feigned confusion, though she could understand his Parseltongue perfectly. “What did you just say?” She inquired, watching as the snake on his forearm began to slither up his arm slightly.

He smiled genuinely, kissing her cheek. “Nothing that you wouldn’t have approved of. Now, sleep, Hermione. You’ve the day off tomorrow, and I’ve made plans for us.”

Hermione inwardly groaned. She needed her time alone tomorrow to research. If he—if he intended to use their child with mal intent, then maybe…

She stopped her thought process immediately when she felt a prob at her mind. She snapped her head back up, “Stay the _fuck_ out of my mind, Riddle,” she sneered, “you already got what you wanted. Let me sleep in peace for this one night.”

He rolled his eyes, “I just wanted to be sure that you weren’t planning on doing anything stupid to… eliminate yourself.” His voice was soft, full of genuine concern. Maybe some of her traits _were_ rubbing off on him. Not enough for it to truly make a difference, but enough for her to see some sort of change.

Hermione huffed again before she laid her head back down, slipping underneath the duvet, intent on staying as far away from her spouse as possible in their ridiculously large bed. He didn’t seem to mind, as he had turned his back on her as well. She was grateful for that.

This child… this child was her only hope, now. And this child would, hopefully, be the loophole to their bond, if Fate was at the very least, somewhat kind to her. With that in mind, she slept peacefully, knowing she possibly held the key to _everything_ inside her own body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some intense happenings and revelations in this chapter, hmm? What are your thoughts? Let me know in the comments!


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